


Finite Chances; Infinite Possibilities

by AKMars



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-20
Updated: 2013-05-19
Packaged: 2017-10-29 20:58:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/324100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AKMars/pseuds/AKMars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life gives us a certain number of chances....what we do with them is up to us.  Takes place immediately after the events of 'From Here, Where?'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Finite Chances; Infinite Possibilities

Chapter 1: Home, Safe Home

Rating: M

Reese/Finch: Angst/Love

Note: 'FC; IP' is a continuation of 'From Here, Where?' and picks up where that story leaves off. Thanks to all of you for your patience and continued interest in my works. I promise things will begin to heat up between our boys. Finch has a whole lot of repression to get past and Reese, being the professional operative that he is, will get the job done...

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

The towncar pulled into an enclosed lot at the end of a quiet backstreet. It was late afternoon by this time and few people were out and about along the sidewalks. 'Thing 1', as Reese had whimsically dubbed the man, parked the car and opened his employer's door. The operative's lips twisted into a grin at the way the other man studiously ignored him. The feeling was mutual. Erstwhile bodyguards 1 and 2 might be, to Reese they were no more than automatic doors for Finch.

Following the smaller man into the alley between streets, Reese noted that each of the brownstones on this block had a small garden at the back. Most were bordered by wrought iron fences but the one Finch paused at to gain entrance was surrounded by a 7 foot tall concrete wall. A covered porch obstructed the half of the yard closest to the house. Trust the billionaire to ensure his privacy as much as possible.

Reese took note of the clean landscaping. The entire yard was paved with vintage cobblestone, moss artistically poking up between the cracks. A raised pool rested against one side wall, an abstract fountain splashing down into it. The ex-CIA man caught a flash of gold and white beneath the surface of the water. Koi? He hadn't pegged Finch as a fish man. Tasteful outdoor furniture and a rockwork grill completed the living space.

The recluse ignored it all as he made his way to the rear entrance of the house. Pausing by the back door, Finch popped a lightswitch cover to reveal a numeric keypad on the wall.

"Pay attention Mr. Reese. You'll need to memorize this code if you want to enter when I'm not here. I don't need to tell you that having the police show up to apprehend you as an intruder would be awkward to say the least."

Finch punched in a 5 digit code and hit the star key three times. The warning light cycled from red to green but the billionaire hit the 8 key before entering.

"If you don't do that the silent alarm trips as soon as the door is opened."

"Clever Finch."

"You were expecting less, Mr. Reese?"

Reese didn't answer, he just concentrated on absorbing all the details inside the house he could take in. Contrary to his assumptions, the kitchen was rustic in appearance with oversized appliances. A faint odor of thyme hung in the air and the ex-op surmised that this was one location that the billionaire used on a semi-regular basis.

He followed Finch into a spacious living area and was amused to note an entire wall taken up with computer monitors and keyboards; the technology a jarring contrast to the overstuffed leather furniture and floor to ceiling mahogany bookcases. Reese wondered if his employer had a connection to his creation in all of his 'homes'. Instead of Big Brother watching him, Finch was watching back; forever looking...waiting for the next number to surface.

The billionaire hung his coat up on the row of hooks in the brownstone's foyer. He turned to his partner.

"Please, make yourself at home."

Reese regarded him a moment before easing down onto one end of the sofa. He sighed as the cushions embraced him. Luxury did have its uses and comfort was the best of them. He closed his eyes, resting his head against the back of the couch.

Finch stood silent, observing the other man. Reese was looking much better it was true, but there were small tells of discomfort...a tightening of the skin at his temples, a slight twitch of the mouth spoke of lingering aches from the op's wounds. To one who lived with such pain and was adept at suppressing signs of it, John might as well have been shouting about how much he hurt. He wanted very much to ask if he could help, to do something to ease it but his innate caution was keeping him in check.

"You're thinking too loud Finch...it's distracting."

The billionaire started. Reese had not opened his eyes, but a slight smile played across his lips.

"Do you detect changes in the air pressure around me or is it the bio-electrical impulses of my brain that you're picking up?"

Reese gave a quiet laugh and settled deeper into the sofa.

"There are bedrooms upstairs if you'd prefer to sleep."

"This is fine, Finch. I just want to rest for a moment." Reese's tone was casual but the effort of showering, dressing and his personal activities had drained him more than he thought they would. Taking a few minutes to recharge his batteries would be a good investment of time.

"Alright...I'll leave you to it."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

Reese awoke with a start. He blinked to clear his eyes. By the amber light filtering through the windows, he could see that it was now night and the streetlights had kicked on. The living room lights were out and the op was alone in the semi-darkness. He must have been more tired than he thought to have dozed off for a good couple of hours.

Reese sat up, pulling the afghan that covered him aside.

_Afghan? What..._

He looked down in surprise at the colorful knitted throw that had been placed over him. It had to have been Finch who put it there. T-1 hadn't come into the house with them and if it had been anyone else other than the billionaire, Reese's natural instincts would have registered a stranger in his personal space and he would have woken up.

That thought in mind, he listened... _there_... He caught the sound of footsteps and a voice in the kitchen. Reese stood up and moved with his normal stealth in that direction; nose twitching as he picked up the scents of cooking.


	2. Small Comforts

Finite Chances; Infinite Possibilities

Chapter II: Small Comforts  
Pairing: Finch/Reese

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

_"There are bedrooms upstairs if you'd prefer to sleep."  
"This is fine, Finch. I just want to rest for a moment."   
"Alright....I'll leave you to it."_

_Two Hours Prior:_

Finch entered the downstairs bathroom. It had been a long morning and since his operative had met him in the clinic's garage, the opportunity to take care of any personal needs had not arisen until now. He sighed in relief, both for his rapidly emptying bladder and the fact that the two of them were secure in the favorite of his safe houses. 

Finch washed his hands with the same meticulous care he did everything else. Patting them dry on the thick cotton towel hanging there, the recluse glanced at himself in the mirror. Pale, blue-gray eyes stared back at him from behind thick framed glasses. His short spiky hair was just a touch untidy and Finch noted with displeasure the slight shadows underneath his eyes. He was tired himself and a quiet, traitorous corner of his mind was urging him to settle in next to Reese on the sofa.

The thought was quite attractive actually....Finch’s mind wandered back to his walk around the rooftop track with Reese and their rest stop on the bench. His leg had started to rebel at the combination of exercise and cold air. He thought he'd suppressed his reaction to the pain lancing through his thigh, so when he'd felt Reese's leg press against him the billionaire's eyes had opened in surprise. 

He had been genuinely grateful as the operative's body heat leached into his trembling muscles, helping them to relax. Finch had also felt a small spark of contentment inside at the thought. John hadn't wanted anything from him; only to help...just as the recluse had deduced from the very beginning. 

Finch wanted so much to tell John how he felt....that he trusted him now, with his life. He thought that Reese felt something for him as well; the ex-CIA man's actions indicated interest...but. The billionaire exhaled in frustration. If he could just know for certain. 

_He could just be humoring me to stay involved with our work....there's no reason to think that he really could be attracted to me; want me like that._

Finch knew all about Reese's history with Jessica but knew as well that Reese had been with men in the past. The notes were in his service records about things he'd done while under cover...and indications of previous male partners in the intervening years. Interestingly enough, Finch had been unable to find any evidence of personal liaisons with females since Jessica.

_The truth is John Reese could have anyone he wanted with very little effort. It’s highly doubtful he’d choose you unless he felt he had too. Or he felt sorry for you._

The billionaire shook his head to get rid of the poisonous thoughts his mind voice was feeding him. For now it was best to keep things as they were.

_You took care of him though, old man....the way you would have done for Nathan, if he had lived..._

Finch rested both hands on the sink and closed his eyes, feeling the quiet pain well up again at the thought of his lost friend. He and Ingram had had so little time together before everything fell apart. With Nate he'd felt things he'd never experienced before in his life; things so new and tentative that his heart had shut down after Ingram‘s death, as crippled by grief as his body had been by the accident.

And now John Reese was causing him to feel these things again. Kick-starting his emotional side...his humanity back into life and it was just as painful now, knowing that he could still feel this way about another person. 

He trusted Reese, _he did_...but for the man's own safety there were still things he could not tell John; not now and perhaps not ever. How that would affect their partnership, he didn't know.

A gurgling growl echoed through the bathroom and startled Finch out of his reverie as he felt the coinciding twist in his gut. An unwilling smile crossed his face as he headed back to the living room. As much as he might attempt to distance himself from physical needs, his body had inconvenient ways of reminding him it needed attention. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

The billionaire entered the darkening living area and stopped by the sofa. 

“Are you hungry, Mr. Reese?”

Deep, even breathing was his only answer.

Finch stepped closer and looked down at the man. Reese’s features had gone slack and he looked oddly vulnerable with his hair tousled and his head turned to rest against the side of the couch. The recluse’s fingers itched to smooth down Reese’s wayward bangs and stroke his cheek. He pushed the thought down and turned to the armoire, opening a top cabinet and removing a crocheted spread. With gentle hands he covered the op, drawing the afghan around John’s shoulders. Finch caught a whiff of the shower gel Reese had used, mingling with his own natural scent and allowed himself the luxury of breathing it in for a moment; imprinting it into his memory. 

His brain tumbled images at him: he and Reese walking in Central Park as he explained about the Machine; Reese startling him at his ‘workplace’, showing up at the diner....the way the op had clutched at him when he’d staggered out of the parking garage stairwell, as if the recluse was his only lifeline.

He imagined Reese sitting next to him on the rooftop; putting his arm around the billionaire, leaning in to nuzzle his ear. Pictured what it would feel like to hold that strong, warm body in his arms...to feel John’s heartbeat against his own chest and...

Finch’s stomach once again disrupted his thoughts and he straightened abruptly, aware of a tightness in his lower abdomen that had nothing to do with needing food. He left John to sleep and moved on to the kitchen.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

_Reese stood up and moved with his normal stealth in that direction; nose twitching as he picked up the scents of cooking._

_Present Time:_

The ex-CIA man stood silent in the dark entrance of the living room, watching his employer in the kitchen. Finch had a skillet going on the stove top and something that made Reese's mouth water was roasting in the oven. The billionaire had his back to the doorway and it took the operative a moment to realize that the voice he had heard was Finch's surprisingly clear tenor singing along to the MP3 player sitting on the counter. 

_'I see skies of blue and clouds of white;  
The bright, blessed day, the dark sacred night.  
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world....._

_The colors of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky;  
Are also on the faces, of people going by.'_

Reese stepped into the kitchen, his baritone blending with Finch's voice.

 _'I see friends shaking hands, sayin' how do you do?  
They're really sayin' I-'_ he broke off abruptly as the billionaire swung round to face him, eyes wide with surprise. The sight of him wearing a chef's apron, oven mitt on one hand, was almost comical.

"Didn't figure you for a Satch fan, Finch."

“For all you know Mr. Reese, I could be an aficionado of AC/DC.” It amazed the operative how quickly the recluse could raise his barriers. Finch turned back to remove the skillet from the heat.

“You’re feeling sufficiently rested I trust?”

“Yes Harold, thank you for asking.” Reese moved up to stand beside the stove, inhaling the amazing aromas coming from the pan of sautéed vegetables the billionaire was stirring.

“Anything I can help with?”

“Thank you for asking, Mr. Reese. You might set the table.”

Reese grinned at the asperity in Finch’s tone.

“The dishes are-”

“Over here.” Reese finished.

“How did you...”

“No self-respecting chef puts tableware in the cabinets next to the stove. Too many people in his workspace.” The ex-CIA man pulled plates and glasses out of the cupboard next to the back door; opening the drawer beneath it to get forks and knives.

“Hmph....I won’t ask how you know your way around a kitchen.” The curiosity in Finch’s voice was evident, nonetheless.

John grinned again as he began setting to places at table. “I was undercover once in the home of a low-ranking political official in France. I did everything from be his driver to general house labor. His chef, Marcel was a virtuoso in the kitchen and the most temperamental bastard I’ve ever had the misfortune to know. He hated everything about the United States in general and me in particular.” 

Reese drew himself up and bestowing a haughty look on Finch, spoke in a stentorian bass.

“Americans have no culture; they merely _**exist!**_ ”

The billionaire laughed in spite of himself. Reese sniffed in disdain and continued to set the table. 

Finch removed a glass dish from the oven and put it on the stove top, covering it with a bit of foil.

“Harold, that smells wonderful.”

“You need protein, Mr. Reese. So broiled steak it is, in a moderate burgundy sauce, with pan-stirred mixed vegetables on the side. There’s wine in either the cooler or the rack behind you if you‘d....” Finch broke off. “I’m sorry," he said quietly.

“It’s alright.” Reese replied. “I’d prefer water.”

“Middle right side of the refrigerator and the same for me, if you would.”

John nodded and poured glasses for both of them. He carried a plate over to the recluse and Finch placed one of the steaks and a generous helping of vegetables on it. The op traded it for the empty one and Finch repeated his actions.

“I hope everything is satisfactory.” The billionaire’s tone held a faint note of anxiety as he awkwardly took his chair. 

Reese seated himself and cut a piece out of his steak. He was pleased to note that it was rare inside, yet warm. He closed his eyes in satisfaction as the meat’s juices filled his mouth. The flavor was intense; it needed no additional seasonings and was more tender than any beef he’d ever had.

“It’s incredible, Finch. I won’t ask where you learned to cook.”

A slight, pleased smile flitted across the smaller man’s features. Encouraged by John’s reaction to the food, he felt inclined to open up a bit more. 

“I had to learn. I lived alone in college and afterwards, so I had no choice. I was surprised that I actually liked to.” He tucked into his own portion. “I enjoy it, when I have the time to do so.”

“Thank you for doing so tonight. It makes a nice change from take-out.”

Finch smiled again. The remainder of the meal passed in silence as they both concentrated on the food and their own thoughts.


	3. Smash & Grab

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: Contains descriptions of violence and non-consensual sexual situations. If this is offensive to you then do not read.

Finite Chances; Infinite Possibilities

Chapter III: Smash and Grab  
Pairing: Finch/Reese  
Rating: M

WARNING: This chapter contains violence and non-consensual sexual contact. If this offends you, then please stop reading now. And at last, a longer chapter!

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

John Reese slowly drifted back to consciousness. He blinked his eyes to clear away the last traces of blurriness and stared up at the cream-colored ceiling. Sunlight dappled the walls of the bedroom he'd taken residence in the night before. He sighed with contentment. The operative was warm, comfortable and as at peace in his spirit as it was possible for him to be at any given time.

Reese stretched an arm out across the bed, rubbing his fingers against the soft cotton sheets. Only one thing would make this perfect...he lay there wondering what Harold was doing right now. _He's probably been up for hours, hunched over his computer keyboards, pecking away._ John glanced over at the bedside clock...9 a.m. All must be well or Finch would have woken him up to deal with a new number. Funny how things had been quiet of late.

He wondered if he could coax the recluse out of the brownstone for a bit of exercise...a walk around the block at least. Reese got up and stretched, luxuriating in the feel of his muscles moving without pain.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After a quick shower, the op stepped out into the hallway and stood for a moment listening for sounds of activity.

A faint, whiffling snore emanated from the room next to his. Reese slipped up to the partially open door and looked inside. The billionaire was dead to the world, both arms draped over his chest. John noted the stack of pillows elevating Finch's torso and supporting the weight of his stiff spine. The op winced in sympathy, he'd had injuries before that had prevented him from sleeping, at least until exhaustion finally overcame the pain. With his signature stealth, Reese reached the nightstand next to the bed and checked out the clock. Finch must have been tired, for he'd set the alarm for eight but neglected to turn it on.

Reese stepped back into the hall, turning to go downstairs. He wouldn't disturb his friend. The man evidently needed the rest or his workaholic nature would have asserted itself by now. He decided to reciprocate for Finch's dinner last night by taking care of breakfast. The op rummaged around in the refrigerator, ideas coming to him as he found ingredients. He couldn't make hollandaise worth a damn, but he'd find something to put together.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The billionaire limped into the kitchen, fully dressed and obviously in a bad mood.

"I cannot believe I slept this late. Anything could have happened, you-" Finch stopped in mid-grouse and took in the picture of Reese sitting at the dining table, deep into the Sports section of the Times. The op eyed him over the top of the newspaper.

"Water's hot if you want some tea, Harold; food's ready too." Reese went back to reading, hiding his smirk behind a sip of coffee.

The billionaire said nothing but put a ball of his favorite chai leaves in a cup to steep and fixed a plate of eggs and toast for himself. When he sat down he saw the Arts/Leisure and Business sections of the paper folded neatly by his place. He glanced over at his employee, noting the fact that Reese was dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt; his feet bare.

"Am I unaware of a change in agenda for today, Mr. Reese?"

"It's Sunday, Harold. Even reclusive computer geniuses need one morning to relax and before you ask, I've got dibs on the comics."

Finch sniffed in reply and applied himself to his breakfast; picking up the Business section and opening it up with his free hand.

 _Point for me_...John thought and smiled again.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Have you suddenly developed a death-wish, Mr. Reese or are you just insane?"

"It's been over six weeks, Finch. If Mark knew we were still in the city then he'd have found us by now. I need to get out and so do you."

The billionaire sighed. He had to admit to himself that the mundane ritual of a quiet breakfast and reading the Sunday Times had been a nice change. Mostly due to having his companion to share it with. Reese had dropped a few benign conversational gems; strictly casual and without the deeper purpose of ferreting more information about the recluse's personal habits. Finch found himself responding in kind and a pleasant hour had slipped by without his noticing it.

"I have work to do and it would be best if you confined your need for physical activity to the workout room in the basement." Finch limped over to his computer station and settled down in front of the monitors, his fingers dancing over the keyboards even before he'd taken his seat.

"I need to walk Finch."

"Use the treadmill, it's a very good one...I can recommend it personally."

"I need fresh air."

"Turn on a fan."

The op merely raised an eyebrow in annoyance.

"I need to get some things from the library later this evening. If you must insist on traipsing around like a lamb to the slaughter then come with me when I go. At least it will be dark outside."

"I'm holding you to it, Harold."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As compensation for insisting that Reese keep to the house, his employer passed over the keys to his Town Car when it was time for them to go out. It wasn't that Reese was a bad driver; unless it was in a chase/evasion situation the operative had good road etiquette. Finch just had a difficult time relinquishing control of even the small things in his life.

Finch watched him out of the corner of his eye and noted the tension ease out of Reese's shoulders as they headed up town. It made the recluse relax too. John had been 'pacing his cage' all day and it was a relief to give him some liberty. He laughed a bit inside. As if he could make the operative do anything he truly did not want to. He appreciated that Reese knew Finch had his safety in mind and was willing to show restraint; in regards to the CIA agents looking for him at least.

"I'll be at least an hour pulling books and downloading some data to take back to the house. You're welcome to take the car until I need you again, Mr. Reese."

Finch was rewarded with a genuine smile. "I think I'll do that, Harold. Maybe pick up some dinner. How does tandoori chicken sound?"

"Very agreeable and don't forget the garlic naan."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Finch finished his data transfer and was about to call Reese back when he really looked at the room he'd been in for the past hour and a half. The paper shredder was overflowing and several empty coffee and tea take-away cups littered one of the tables. He'd not had a chance to come back and clean up after their assignment with the multiple numbers.

With a sigh for the clutter, Finch pulled out a garbage bag and began to clear up around his workstation. He headed down the back staircase that emptied into an alley behind the library building. A commercial dumpster owned by the business opposite made a convenient, and anonymous, disposal spot for the small bit of trash he and his employee generated in their work. Lifting the heavy lid, Finch levered the garbage bag into the dumpster and turned to go back inside.

The impact of a baseball bat between the billionaire's shoulder blades was the only warning he had of being followed. The force of the blow threw him against the alley wall, sending his glasses flying. Pain burst across his back and shoulders, arcing down his spinal cord to meet the searing ache in his thigh. It's severity stole what little breath he had left after being assaulted by the bat.

"Hey man...old guys like you shouldn't go wandering around alleys all alone." The teen's voice was full of smug arrogance.

Finch blinked, trying to focus on the blur towering over him. He was aware of another shadow stepping in from his other side.

" 'Specially old crips. Somethin' bad could happen to you."

Finch made no attempt to rise, holding his hands up to indicate he wasn't going to fight them. "Look, take my wallet...I don't know who you are, I can't identify you without my glasses. Here.." he started to reach inside his coat.

A strong hand grabbed his wrist, pulling him half off the ground. He yelped involuntarily as his back spasmed. The bat slammed into his side this time and he was dropped back to the pavement. He gasped, trying unsuccessfully to suck air into his lungs.

"Oh, we're gonna take it alright, but let's just see what else you got."

The recluse cried out again as he was forced prone on the pavement, the boy holding his wrist yanking both arms above his head. He heard the sound of the bat being dropped and the other teen knelt down next to him, opening his coat and vest.

Finch couldn't help struggling as he felt strange hands going through his pockets. His attackers just laughed and the one holding him down backhanded him across the face. Sparks erupted before his eyes and the warm, metallic taste of blood spilled into his mouth from his split lip.

Bat-boy quickly found his watch, wallet, phone and spare money clip. He turned his attention to the billionaire's clothing.

"Hey, these shoes are prime."

The other one whistled. "Like fifteen-hundred bucks prime...they're small but take 'em, get his belt too." Finch felt hands at his waist, undoing the buckle of his belt and wrenching it out of his pants. His shoes were pulled off his feet, one sock coming with them.

Bat boy leaned down and the recluse swallowed down his nausea at the reek of cigarettes and cheap liquor on his attacker's breath.

"You come back here again and we'll kill you, old man." The billionaire flinched at the snick of a switchblade and gave a slight nod.

"Good. And just to make sure you don't forget." Bat boy plowed his fist into Finch's gut, adding insult to the miasma of pain wracking his body. The teens' shoes pounding the street faded into the distance.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Finch struggled to crawl to the edge of the alley, rolling so that his face was turned towards the street. He sucked in deep breaths, the stabbing pains in his back and leg keeping rational thought at bay.

The security camera mounted across the road kept a solitary vigil over the billionaire's struggle; its red light blinking on and off like the pulse of a living heart. Inside the vast network it was connected to, a subset of programs routed its signal to an additional monitoring station.

The computer screens in the library displayed the surveillance footage they'd received as the Machine observed the city, following its programming; keeping watch as Finch had designed it to. One image kept repeating on the screen, until finally the cycling stopped and the image enlarged to take up the entire monitor.

**-Camera: VX9774A8B, 22:37  
-Location: Intersection of Lovell St./8th Avenue  
-Field: Alley, adjacent building**

**-PROCESSING...PROCESSING...PROCESSING...**

The camera field tightened to focus on the figure lying at the alley's entrance. A white box appeared around the man's face.

**-Facial Recognition Program: ACTIVATED**

**-PROCESSING...PROCESSING...PROCESSING...**

**-Public Archive: NO MATCH  
-Criminal Databases: NO MATCH**

**-PROCESSING...PROCESSING...PROCESSING...**

A small window appeared at the bottom of the monitor.

**-Internal Database: MATCH FOUND  
-Smith, Harold: ADMIN RECOGNITION/SYSOP**

The box around Finch's head changed from white to yellow and began to flash. The camera field zoomed out enough to show the recluse trying to sit up before crashing back down onto the pavement, motionless.

**-PROCESSING...PROCESSING...PROCESSING...**

**-Status: CRITICAL  
-Locating Asset: John Reese  
-Mobile Device...DIALING  
-Voicemail: ACTIVATED  
-Initiating Video Feed/Camera: VX9774A8B**

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Reese's phone rang and he tapped the earwig receiver with a sigh.

"What is it, Harold? Do you miss me?" He grinned, waiting for the tart reply that was sure to follow his impertinence. The silence was deafening.

"Finch? FINCH?"

The op's phone beeped again as it logged a voicemail message. Reese pulled it out and entered his pass code. The billionaire's profile flashed up at him from the video link, his eyes closed and smeared with blood?

Reese swore, taking in the details of the alley, trying to place where Finch was. Text appeared at the bottom of the picture:

**-Camera: VX9774A8B, 22:39  
-Location: Intersection of Lovell St./8th Avenue  
-Field: Alley, adjacent building**

The ex-CIA man swore again. At least he was close, thank God. Dropping the food bags, he leapt into his car and sped off in the direction of the library, keeping the video link open. He was still ten minutes away when he saw two vagrants enter the alley. The text feed updated on the video image:

**-PROCESSING...PROCESSING...PROCESSING...**

**-Status: CRITICAL/  
VIOLENCE IN PROGRESS**

Reese jammed the gas pedal to the floorboards.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The billionaire was fading in and out of consciousness as the cold asphalt leached away his body heat. He was only peripherally aware of quiet voices approaching from down the street.

"Hey mister, you okay?" Finch's shoulder was shaken roughly by the owner of the gravelly voice. "He's out of it Wally...looks like he got rolled, his shoes are gone."

The older vagrant looked around the alley. He and his friend were the only ones present, except for the man they'd found. He scratched at his beard in thought, a grin spreading over his face. No-one would know if he and Wally helped themselves to a bit of windfall...certainly not this suit.

"Looks like we've got an opportunity here, Wally."

The younger of the two looked at his friend with a puzzled expression. The older one sighed. Wally wasn't too swift on the uptake, but he was as strong as he was addled and docile enough to follow orders.

"Wall-Street here got mugged and he's dead to the world, so why not help ourselves."

"Oh...okay, Martin. Whadda we take?"

"He's about my size, I want his pants and his shirt."

"How come you get 'em?"

"Cause I thought of it first, that's why and you're too tall for them to fit. You can have his coat."

For the second time that night Finch felt hands on him; stripping him of his jacket, vest, shirt and pants. The bums even took his tie, Wally exclaiming at the 'pretty colors'.

"Hey Wally, look at this..." the older of the homeless men ran his hand over Finch's bad leg, feeling the scars. The unwanted touches pulled Finch a bit closer to awareness.

"Stop it..." the recluse mumbled, twitching one arm in an attempt to push the other man away.

"That must've hurt, mister." Wally said, his hand joining his friend in examining the scars. "His skin's smooth though..." Wally smiled, enjoying the contrasting softness. The bum leaned in over Finch's face and inhaled. "He smells so clean too."

"He's a rich man Wally, just had a bad night." The older man smiled and stroked a gloved hand over Finch's cheek, more sinister thoughts crossing his mind. The billionaire gagged at the stench of dirty wool, urine and body-odor.

"You're right though, Wally...he's _clean_ for sure and...delicate almost.."

"Yeah...Martin...you think?"

"Let's see..." the one called Martin cupped his hand over Finch's crotch, feeling for his penis through the fabric of his briefs.

"NO!" The smaller man struggled, adrenaline flooding his system as his need to escape overrode his pain receptors.

Martin wrapped an arm around Finch's torso, pinning him in place as he pushed his other hand inside the recluse's shorts, caressing his balls.

"Now, now...easy there skinny. We don't want to hurt you, just have a good time. Relax and you'll like it too."

The other vagrant moved up to squat over Finch's legs, reaching up and pulling is underwear down over his hips and tossing it off to the side. The older bum let Wally take over his work on Finch's crotch, working his hand up under his captive's t-shirt to tweak his nipple.

With complete disregard for the damage he was doing to his old injuries, Finch writhed, trying to throw off his attackers. He was running on pure instinct at this point, his rational side switched off by his basic need to escape.

All at once the weight on his legs was gone; the restraining arms vanished and Finch scrabbled away, feeling for the brick of the alley wall to get his back against it. His ears registered muffled thumps and cries, his eyes seeing nothing but dark shapes moving back and forth in the shadows.

The billionaire heard footsteps approaching and frantically patted the ground around him, seeking something; anything that he could defend himself with. His fingers brushed a length of pipe and Finch snatched it up, blinking to try and focus on the blur that was closing in on him.

"Don't touch me!" Finch swung wildly at the shape in front of him. He pulled back to try again when the pipe was wrenched out of his hands.

"Finch!"

The billionaire doubled his fists up. " _DON'T!_ "

"Harold! It's me, John!"

Finch stopped, focusing on the voice. "Mr. Reese?" it came out as a harsh whisper.

The op crouched down in front of his employer, careful not to touch him. The recluse was a mess, covered in filth; clad only in his undershirt and one sock, shivering in the cold air. His blankly staring eyes were wild.

"It's John, Harold...you're okay."

"John?" Finch lowered his fists and sighed. "John...". The last of his panic-fueled strength exhausted; his eyes rolled up in their sockets and Reese grabbed him just in time to keep from hitting his head on the pavement. He eased the recluse down on his side and shrugging out of his topcoat, laid it over the unconscious man.

John looked over at the Lincoln and shook his head. He couldn't drive and make sure Finch was alright at the same time. He dialed up the billionaire's car service and told them to get there fast.

When the limo pulled up ten minutes later, Reese was waiting at the mouth of the alley, Finch's limp form in his arms and a look that promised dire consequences to anyone who asked questions. The driver opened the car door without comment and Reese settled himself inside, still cradling Finch to try and warm him up. The ex-CIA man gave the driver the safe house address and ordered him to crank the heat up as high as it would go in the passenger compartment.

The screen on the library computer showed the limousine pulling away from the alley. The window at the bottom of the surveillance image flashed again.

**-PROCESSING...PROCESSING...PROCESSING...  
-Status: CRI---AVERTED**

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx


	4. Out Of The Depths

Finite Chances; Infinite Possibilities

Chapter IV: Out of the Depths...

Pairing: Finch/Reese (Hurt, Comfort)

Rating: M

Notes: The aftermath of events in Chapter III and an adversary returns. Don't like slash? Then don't read/hate on.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mark Snow was pissed. Six weeks... _six weeks_ had passed since John had disappeared and the only lead they had, prints on a scrip bottle, had led to nothing but a dead end. His team might have well been the Three Stooges for all the success they were having trying to find the rogue agent. In a fit of pique, he ordered the lot of them to get out of his sight and not return until they had something concrete.

Now the CIA man was pacing his office in the Manhattan branch like an angry tiger. He'd had Reese, _had him_! It was perfect. When that stupid NYPD detective called him (and Snow had reveled at the guilt in her voice) to say that John would be in the hospital parking garage, the agent had been almost delirious. Bringing Reese in would have been the magnum opus of career builders for him.

A small part of him admitted that he shared a portion of the blame. The logical solution would have been to tell his sniper to shoot to kill. The agency powers monitoring this operation knew how dangerous Reese was and would not have questioned the use of lethal force. Snow couldn't do that. He wanted to bring Reese in alive too badly. He _needed_ to. Snow had a personal score to settle with his former friend. The bastard had walked away from the CIA, from _him_ ; Mark would never let John get away with that.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Harold Finch stared at his reflection in disgust. A large bruise decorated his right cheek and his lower lip was swollen from where the one youth had slapped him. His gaze traveled down his chest to the discoloration mottling his ribs and the red marks around his left nipple.

Humiliation, hot and sick, slid over him and he saw his cheeks flush as he remembered how the two homeless men had touched him. He'd been stripped of all the trappings of his supposed power and been helpless to protect himself. The realization of just how weak he was without his technology, his money...God, even his _glasses_ , galled him. He closed his eyes in shame...feeling the ache of the teens' punches...the stench of the homeless man who'd had his hand down the billionaire's briefs once again clogging his nostrils.

Finch managed to reach the toilet just in time as he retched violently, his gut roiling. He vomited again, heaves wracking his frame and hissed as his back muscles cramped in protest. Hands braced on the toilet tank, he stood there; willing his stomach to settle.

_If Reese hadn't shown up, they would have..._

The thought almost set him off again. To have Reese see him like that, so helpless, so useless...was almost more than he could bear. He remembered nothing of how he got back to the safe house; the op must have driven him, he supposed. He had flashes of memory though, hot water cascading over him; being toweled dry and waking up in the master-suite of the safe house...mercifully alone.

Reese had left him completely alone in fact. When the billionaire had opened his eyes, he'd expected to find his operative keeping vigil over him. Other than his spare pair of glasses and some pain medication on the nightstand, there were no signs that anyone else had been in the room at all. It took a supreme effort of will to pull his sore and protesting body up into a sitting position. He'd grabbed his glasses at once and for the first time in over twelve hours the world slid back into focus. Of course this meant that he now had to face what had happened to him.

The recluse had showered again and now, nausea passing, accepted that he couldn't hide in his room any longer. He had to face Reese at some point and discourage any uncomfortable questions that encounter may engender. He knew he was lucky to be alive and admitted to himself that a slow death by hypothermia in a garbage strewn alley, after being beaten and savaged, was not how he pictured his demise.

Pulling on his bathrobe, Finch stepped back into the master bedroom and drew out the process of getting dressed as long as he possibly could. At last he gathered what dignity he could and went downstairs.

John Reese was nowhere to be found. The house was quiet and almost ominous to the billionaire's way of thinking. He felt himself growing anxious...more at the thought that he was truly alone than worry that his operative might be found by Snow's team. What if someone tried to break in? What if the teens that jumped him last night had followed them back to the house and...

A cold sweat broke out on his forehead and Harold felt his heart speed up. He couldn't catch his breath. His vision dimmed and he forced himself to lean forward, trying to increase the blood-flow to his brain. He'd backed into a corner of the living room without thinking; hands braced on the walls for support.

_Panic attack...I've never had a panic attack in my life._

Deliberately the recluse took several deep breaths...drawing the air into his lungs and slowly pushing it out again. His eyes cleared after a few minutes and he felt his heartbeat return to normal. One hand still on the wall, Finch made his way to his computer station and eased down into the chair, swiveling it so that he faced the back door. He had to pull himself together. Bad enough that Reese had seen him mostly naked and frightened out of his mind last night...Finch didn't need the added stress of his employee fussing over him today.

The billionaire swallowed and focused on his breathing. _I have to move on...go forward. There will be numbers to work and the detectives to monitor. I need food;_ Finch decided, _food and some tea._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The recluse had eaten and was taking his first sip of tea when the backdoor opened. "Shit!" he exclaimed, dropping the mug into the sink where it shattered. Finch felt his face flush at his use of an expletive, but made no comment.

John Reese said nothing, merely locking the door behind him and set a paper bag down beside the table...acting for all the world like he'd just come from the most banal of errands.

Finch limped over to take a seat facing Reese. The ex-CIA man regarded him for a minute, then moved over to the kettle of still hot water and fixed another cup of tea for his employer. He placed it at the smaller man's elbow without a word and sat down next to the recluse.

Harold picked it up, wrapping his fingers around the warmth of the mug and took a sip. The rich flavor of chamomile and honey filled his mouth and he swallowed the soothing brew.

"Where have you been, Mr. Reese?"

Without a word his operative reached into his coat pocket and placed a handful of objects onto the dining table. Finch recognized his wallet and phone at once. His money-clip was there as well, although the cash it had held was gone.

"Your shoes had already been sold off; but..." Reese dipped his hand into his wallet and pulled out a claim ticket.

"The crystal on your Rolex was damaged. It's at _Menarti's_ down on Fifth Avenue for repairs. They said it should be ready by Wednesday." He extended his hand to Finch, offering the ticket almost in apology.

"That was...thoughtful Mr. Reese, thank you." The billionaire took it from the op without touching his hand.

Reese's eyes narrowed. Finch was conscientious in his effort not to make eye contact with his op. The smaller man's shoulders were tighter than usual and his posture was closed. How he managed to move his arm enough to drink his tea while so tense, the op couldn't fathom.

"There's this too..." Reaching into the paper bag he'd carried in, Reese pulled out the broken halves of a baseball bat. He placed them on the table in front of the billionaire.

The absurd vision of a scarred tomcat dumping a large, dead rat in front of its owner crossed Finch's mind. He stared at the bat and then at last lifted his gaze to look into Reese's eyes. There was no pleasure there, nor any sympathy...just the certainty that a necessary task had been completed.

"You didn't..."

"No Finch...they're punk kids." Reese rested a finger on the top half of the bat. "But they won't be going after anyone for a long time. Seems the police found out about their activities and it looks like they'll be cooling their heels in jail for the foreseeable future."

The taller man shifted back and forth in his chair...almost as if embarrassed. He looked down at the table before speaking again.

"I couldn't find the two vagrants. I'm not surprised...being able to drop out of sight is the only useful thing about homelessness. I did it many times to avoid the police, and not many street people will talk to cops...or someone they think is a cop."

Finch kept his own gaze on the table, his cheek twitching once.

"It doesn't matter, Mr. Reese."

"But-"

"It's over. We have other concerns at the moment."

Reese closed his eyes for a moment...knowing that what he was about to do could potentially end his working relationship with the billionaire. In fact, he had no choice. Harold was a walking time-bomb and if the op couldn't defuse the situation now, the recluse would only implode at some later time; most likely a worse one.

"No, it's not..."

"What?"

"You may not want to deal with what happened to you last night, Finch. But you're forgetting that I was there...I saw what was being done to you."

Just as he'd predicted the recluse pushed his chair back, struggling to his feet.

"We are not having this discussion, Mr. Reese."

Without making physical contact, John stood up and blocked Finch's path.

"Yes, we are."

The shorter man glared up at him, eyes snapping in fury.

"May I remind you that you work for me, Reese...now get out of my way!"

"Not until you talk to me."

Harold's fists balled up at his sides and for a split second, the op thought he was going to take a swing at him. All at once Finch's shoulders slumped and he seemed to shrink in on himself.

"God damn you, John."

"I'm just asking you to talk, Harold... _please_." Reese's voice was full of quiet entreaty.

The recluse dropped his head, rubbing his hands over his face. The events of the previous night had brought all the insecurities and frustrations Finch had buried deep within himself back to the surface. Struggling with the maelstrom of his emotions, the recluse teetered on the brink. When he spoke, his tone was cold.

"I told you once that the numbers haunted me, made me feel _helpless_." A harsh, derisive laugh escaped the billionaire. "What a naive thing to say."

Reese just watched, silent...waiting for the floodgates to open.

"Last night I learned what it truly meant to be helpless. To know that I could do nothing, that..." Finch stopped speaking, his fists clenched again at his sides. He despised himself for being so weak; was positive that, because of his infirmity, Reese must feel that way too.

"I couldn't protect myself because of this!" Finch spread his arms in frustrated despair, limping away from the other man to illustrate his point. He turned to stare out the window, unwilling to see the expression he knew would be on Reese's face right now...pity...God how he _hated_ the look of pity.

Hated it in the faces of passersby when he walked down the street. Hated it from the few contacts his aliases had to speak with in person. The one time he saw it in the eyes of a bodyguard, he'd fired the man the same afternoon. True, Finch had given him a good severance package and references...but he would not have someone protecting him who thought of him that way.

"It's not just because of security that I've remained 'officially dead' the past three years, Mr. Reese. I've eliminated almost all personal contacts because of what I am now...a _freak_...a crippled, unwanted freak...I've not even been with an escort." The rational corner of his mind was appalled at what he was revealing but he couldn't seem to stop himself.

"Oh I tried, just as soon as I was sufficiently recuperated after my 'accident'. The first time, contrary to the assurances of the management that their staff were very professional, the lady in question took one look at me and pleaded illness. I saw the disgust in her face." He gave a derogatory grunt.

Finch shut his eyes, feeling humiliated all over again at the memory. "The second time, word must have gotten around...as with many other businesses, information on customers is shared...it was suggested that I contact a firm specializing in the needs of 'my kind' of people. Their employees were hired for their enthusiasm in working with..." The billionaire swallowed, unable to say the word again. It stuck in his throat like a burr and was just as painful. Knowing that what he'd just admitted would likely result in Reese's leaving, hurt even more.

 _And being groped by a filthy stranger in that alley brought it all back, didn't it old man? No-one else would have you, why would they want to? You're just easy prey for scavengers..._ The billionaire swallowed hard. He needed time alone, to think.

"Harold..." Reese's quiet voice broke into his reverie.

"Mr. Reese, I think it best if you just go now...please."

"Can't do that, Harold."

The smaller man turned back to his employee, his eyes cold. "Why, because you feel sorry for me? The last thing I need or want is your sympathy!" The anger in Finch's tone went straight to Reese's heart, but he gave no indication that it affected him. When the op didn't move, Finch took a step towards him, raising his voice.

"Get out, Mr. Reese!"

"I don't understand how someone so brilliant can be so thick-headed!"

"I beg your pardon?"

The ex-op's unexpected comment deflected Finch's anger, just as Reese had intended.

"You heard me...thick-headed, self-absorbed...narcissistic; however you want to say it." Reese closed the distance between them. "You say you hate being pitied and yet you're wallowing in your own self-pity...drowning in it I'd say."

Finch's jaw dropped in speechless amazement at the operative's words. Reese could have smiled at the picture he presented if it weren't so important that he get through to the other man now.

"You're right, you have physical limitations Harold but trust me you're no cripple. I've seen you stare down a hitman. You've stood up to senators and brought the head of a multi-billion dollar pharmaceutical company to his knees. You're one of the bravest men I've known...I couldn't do half of what you do."

The billionaire's teeth snapped closed with an audible click. He was staring at the taller man but Reese could see Finch's awareness was turned inwards, processing what he'd just heard. _Now or never_ he thought, placing his hands on the smaller man's shoulders. Finch started at his touch, focusing his attention back on the operative.

"Look at me Harold, look at my face...what do you see?"

Hesitantly, Finch did so and Reese could see the doubt and fear in the recluse's expression as he looked up at John. That doubt held on for a brief moment before the billionaire's eyes widened in surprise.

The man who'd become Harold Finch had a split second to absorb the love he saw in Reese's gaze before a warm mouth covered his own and proceeded to show him in a way that could not be denied, exactly how the other man felt.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_CIA HQ-Manhattan Office_

_"Agent Snow? We've got something!"_

**TO BE CONTINUED...**


	5. Tag, You're It....

Finite Chances, Infinite Possibilities  
Chapter V: Tag, You’re It....  
Rating: M (slash)  
Pairing: Reese/Finch

poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi

_The man who'd become Harold Finch had a split second to absorb the love he saw in Reese's gaze before a warm mouth covered his own and proceeded to show him in a way that could not be denied, exactly how the other man felt._

 

John's mouth taking possession of his own pushed the recluse past the point of rational thought. All the glances, the stray touches, his worry...his fear for John’s life after being shot...his loneliness, frustration, the shame of his attack and even a tinge of anger had at last broken through the walls of his self-control. For better or for worse, Harold Finch needed this....more than that he wanted it; wanted John with every fibre of his being. 

He returned Reese's kiss with such ardor it took the operative by surprise. Far from being unsure, the billionaire ran his tongue over the other man's lips with an assertiveness that John found very erotic. John was used to taking the lead in sexual encounters, regardless of which gender he was with. 

To have Finch, who kept himself under such control at all times, react to him aggressively was intoxicating. He opened his mouth and matched the smaller man's intensity, welcoming the exploration of Finch's tongue and reciprocating in full measure. 

Harold made a sound halfway between a moan and a sob, tangling one hand in John’s hair, the other clutching at his jacket to steady himself. He disengaged from the seeking mouth of his partner and pressed kisses into the hollow of his jaw, working his way down the skin of Reese’s throat. The analytical portion of Finch’s brain screaming at him to be careful...to not get too close, to stop was quickly drowned out in the wave of desire building within him. 

John was ecstatic. He lifted a hand and cradled the back of Harold's head as they resumed their kiss. His other arm slid down the recluse's side, fingers brushing the waistband of his trousers. Finch stiffened, pulling away as his mind flashed to an image of the vagrants’ hands on him.

Reese let go of him at once, sensing the change in his partner's reactions. 

"Harold?"

Finch gripped the table's edge, grounding himself back in the present. "I'm sorry....for a moment-"

Reese muttered under his breath and the recluse looked up at the other man, his eyes dark with foreboding. The ex-CIA man shook his head in reassurance.

"No...I'm sorry, Harold." Reese took another step back from his employer and inhaled deeply. "You're too important to me...I don't...damn!" The op swore as he saw the billionaire's walls going up again.

"I'd better check the Machine...I haven't logged on in over twenty-four hours, we could have another number."

"Harold..."

Finch limped over to the computer screens and sat down at the keyboard without a word, starting to work. His fingers typed passwords and keycodes on auto-pilot as his brain tried to sort through the maelstrom of his thoughts. The smaller man was acutely aware of Reese watching him. Finch would be prepared to swear that he could hear John's heartbeat in the vast gulf of silence between them. At last he heard his partner turn and walk away. 

The recluse closed his eyes, praying silently that Reese wouldn't leave and released a quiet sigh when he heard the other man going up the staircase. When he was certain John was upstairs, Harold ceased typing and cradled his head in his hands. _Dear God, where did that come from?!_

The events of the last few minutes replayed in his mind and only served to confuse Finch even more. How could he have told Reese about his failed liaisons? And then to have thrown himself at the man.....Harold’s face flooded with heat as he remembered the taste of John’s mouth on his, the strong arms holding him close....safe...he realized was how he’d felt. It wasn’t until Reese had indicated that he wanted more that the recluse had frozen. 

Finch realized that he’d wanted it too. It was just that the attack last night was still too fresh in Harold’s mind. He’d frozen and instead of explaining things to Reese, he fell back to avoidance and deflection...his favorite coping strategy. _It had worked perfectly, pushing John away..._ Finch berated himself _...perhaps for good._

poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi

 

Reese paced his bedroom in frustration. How could he have been so stupid as to push Finch. The ex-CIA man had seen the results of sexual assault many times; knew how careful you had to be in handling the victims, especially in the first few days. John had blithely thrown all his skills out the window when Finch had responded to him...getting caught up in his own desires and now had to face the fact that he may have lost any chance with his partner forever.

He wanted to scream in frustration, shoot something, leave...this last thought stopped him cold. No, he couldn’t leave. John remembered how jumpy the billionaire was when he’d returned from his clean-up trip. The slight tremor in Finch’s hands, the darting looks at the door and windows; all spoke volumes to Reese. His partner’d had at least one panic attack at being left alone and John wasn’t about to trigger another one by walking out.

The op sat down on the edge of his bed and inhaled, willing himself to calm down. He would give Harold a few minutes to regroup and then they would talk...about everything.

poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi

 

"What and how?!" Agent Snow’s voice was taut with excitement. 

His second in command adjusted his glasses and then called up security footage to his computer. “A tech reviewing traffic cam streams saw this and flagged it, thinking that it might be relevant. It looks as though the guy in it might’ve been involved in a robbery or something else.” He raised his eyes to his boss.

“I took the liberty of setting up an auto-feed to my machines. Anything the PD marks, I get a copy of and that’s when I found this.....” The agent punched a few keys and brought up a loop of video. 

Mark leaned in over his subordinate’s shoulder and watched a tall man look at his cell phone, throw take-out bags on the curb and quickly climb into his vehicle. Before the car sped off, the driver’s face was illuminated beneath a streetlight. The image froze and the agitated face of John Reese was clearly recognizable.

“Got you, you sonofabitch.”

Mark Snow looked down at the hopeful expression on his op’s face. “I’m not going to praise you for being competent...just be thankful you did your job right this time.” He stood up and headed back to his own office. “Call in the rest of the team, canvas the neighborhoods surrounding the restaurant and get me footage from all the cameras within a ten mile radius....NOW!”

The dark-skinned man stared at his superior’s back. Company loyalty be damned...the agent thought, even as he went to work....he really hated Mark Snow.


	6. Hide and Seek

Title: Finite Chances, Infinite Possibilities  
Chapter VI: Hide and Seek  
Pairings: Finch/Reese  
Rating: M for future violence and sexual themes

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

_At least he's still in the house...that's something, I suppose._ Finch thought, willing himself to calm down. He had to process everything that had just happened and figure out what his next move would be. _I'll have to deal with all this eventually but first..._ he continued his review of the surveillance networks. Connecting with his creation gave the billionaire a sphere of pure analytical logic to focus on; a refuge without the messy complexities of emotion.

Harold had almost decided to discontinue his search when his system chirped and a window bordered by a flashing red box popped up. The recluse pulled it to the centre of the screen and enlarged the text.

**System Condition: ALERT  
Status: Unauthorized_System_Connection  
Location: Outside_Source  
Action: Advise Admin/Sysop**

Another box popped up showing Reese looking at his cellphone, white paper bags in his other hand; a time/date stamp in the lower left corner revealed it to be from the previous evening. The recluse watched as his op tossed the bags to the pavement and jumped into his car. John's worried face was clearly framed in the final seconds of the video feed.

Text scrolled up underneath the image. Harold's eyes flew back and forth, speed reading the lines as they appeared...an IP signature for the CIA caught his attention.

"What the", he breathed..."they've tapped into the camera networks. No...no, no, no...not on _my_ system you don't."

There was an edge of anger to he recluse's mutterings as his fingers flew over the keyboard, inputting commands at lightning speed, all the anxiety of what had happened between John and himself pushed aside for the moment. The safety of them both was Finch's primary concern now.

**Source: Admin/Sysop  
Status: Video_Network_Security_Breach  
Location: Outside_Source  
Action: Scorched_Earth_Protocol: INITIATED**

Harold stood up from his chair and backed away from the terminal, shouldering a laptop bag as he called up towards the second floor. "John? _JOHN_?"

Reese flew down the stairs, SIG in hand. "Harold?"

"The CIA have infiltrated the traffic camera networks. They know you're still in the city. John...I found footage of you from last night. Agent Snow will have seen it by now as well. Take it as read that they will be tracking the route you took."

The billionaire tossed components and cellphone chargers into another bag, shouldering it as well. "I've initiated a command which will prevent them from back-tracing our own link or utilizing our hardware, but in the meantime we have to consider the library and this location compromised. It will only be a matter of time before they find either place. These terminals will be rendered useless in minutes."

The recluse limped over to the op and pulled his sleeve. "We have to get out of here... _NOW_!"

Reese responded according to his CIA training when given a direct order from the person he now considered his handler. Grabbing an extra weapon and both their coats he led Finch to the back door. He glanced at the smaller man.

"While we're mobile you do exactly as I tell you, Finch...got it?"

Harold nodded, glad that he was in very capable hands.

"Good, let's move."

The op opened the back door and scanned the yard area and those adjacent. Seeing no overt threats he nodded to the billionaire. Finch limped down the steps and across the patio to the gate. Reese scoped the alley and they slipped out into the streets, doing their best to blend with the rest of the foot traffic.

"Where are we heading?" Finch asked quietly.

"For tonight, the safest place I know." Reese glanced over at the man who'd become the most important thing in his life. "You aren't going to like it..."

_In the house they had just vacated, the billionaire's array of computer monitors showed code streams scrolling furiously across their screens. A series of beeps came from the main CPU and one by one the monitors went dark. As the last of them powered off, the CPU emitted a grinding noise and fell silent..._

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

Harold Finch looked around the open warehouse floor with a strong sense of disorientation. He turned to his partner, one eyebrow rising in disbelief.

" _This_ is 'the safest place you know' "?

"Think of it as one of your fixer-upper properties..." Reese replied, wrestling a less than pristine king mattress from the far end of the room and leaning it sideways over a refrigerator crate that was shoved into one corner. He started packing newspaper into the space above the crate.

"Mark will have been checking hotels, apartment rentals, even houses that have been purchased in the past two months." The op explained as he worked. "He might consider that I'd been a vagrant but it won't be his first thought and he will have no idea where to look. Right now there is no better place for us to hide in plain sight."

The rest of the warehouse's inhabitants ignored them. With the exception of a middle-aged woman the op had introduced as 'his friend Joan'. The homeless woman was layering the bottom of the oversized cardboard container with old blankets and sleeping bags. The recluse looked horrified.

"Surely you don't mean..."

"Mmmm-hmmm, we both are. You need rest and I need you to be out of sight. The crate's more than big enough for two people and corrugated cardboard is one hell of an insulator." Reese turned to look at his partner. "Trust me, I _know_ firsthand."

Harold swallowed. John would know, having spent the better part of two years living on the streets of New York. "Are the blankets at least clean?"

Joan laughed outright at him. "Oh honey...yeah they are. Which is more than most of the rest of these folks can boast." She bobbed her head at the other vagrants bedding down for the night and the billionaire had the grace to look sheepish.

"John keeps a stash of things down here, just in case and it's _my_ job to make sure they stay safe." The woman eyed Finch speculatively. "Are you the person looking after him now, Harold?"

The recluse cleared his throat, hearing Reese's quiet chuckle as he finished setting up their lean to. "In a way, I suppose. Although at the moment, the reverse seems to be the case."

Joan patted the billionaire's arm comfortingly. "You just let him do what he needs to do then. John's good at taking care of people."

Reese walked over and gave the woman a hug.

"Thanks for lending a hand. You need anything?"

She smiled up at him, touching her fingers to his cheek. "Not since that nice young man you brought here last time fixed the place up." Joan beamed over at Finch. "Don't you worry, Harold. The bathrooms work just fine and the showers are running again. You sleep well."

She trundled off with her cart to another part of the floor, leaving the two men alone. The op looked at his employer surreptitiously. Finch was leaning heavily on his good leg; a slight tremor evident in his thigh muscles as he tried to remain standing. Reese knew the billionaire was nearing his physical limits. John had to get him settled and under cover for the night. He reached behind the crate.

"Harold, here."

The recluse took the small toiletries bag Reese handed him, surprised to find a new toothbrush and paste inside as well as deodorant, soap and a travel towel. The ex-CIA man smirked.

"Part of my stash... _just in case_. I wouldn't advise showering tonight...I can't watch out for you and our space at the same time but no-one will bother you if you want to wash up."

"I'd like that, yes."

Finch limped into what used to be the employees' bathroom. Taking care of the most basic of his nightly ablutions helped ground him and he was calmer as he made his way back to Reese.

"Go ahead and get in, make sure your head is facing the opening; take the wall side. Let me know when you're settled."

The billionaire awkwardly clambered into the crate, working his body around so that he was facing the square of light at the mouth of the box. "Alright Mr. Reese."

The op eased in next to him and pulled a blanket down over the open end, plunging them into darkness.

"Harold, try and get comfortable...sleep if you can. I'll keep watch for us."

Finch couldn't see a thing in the blackness. He reached out and found Reese's arm, gripping the other man's elbow to reassure himself the op was actually there. "What about you? You can't stay awake all night, John."

"I'll catnap some tomorrow, it's safer in the daylight anyway. You okay?"

Finch felt the op's strong hand on his forearm. "As much as I can be right now. I can't remove my coat by myself while I'm lying down..."

John heard the quiet frustration in Finch's voice. "Let me help. It might be easier if you lie on your stomach; I can slip it off that way."

Harold sighed in resignation and the op could feel him shifting around.

"I'm ready."

Finch couldn't help tensing when he felt Reese's hands on his back, finding his waist and then moving up to his shoulders, slipping underneath the neck of his jacket. He lifted his arms and the ex-CIA man tugged the garment off of him. Rolling over onto his back, the recluse started to loosen his tie when Reese's hands covered his.

"I've got it."

The strong fingers were very gentle as they eased the Windsor knot loose and pulled the silk tie from under Finch's collar. He drew in a quiet breath when Reese undid the top two buttons of his shirt. He felt his cheeks flush and was profoundly glad that John couldn't see his face. When he felt the warmth of Reese's hands on his torso again, he trembled.

"What are-"

"You should keep your waistcoat on for an extra layer but I think you'll sleep better if it's at least unbuttoned." Suiting actions to words, the op made quick work of it and the older man felt the normally snug garment fall open. Finch was very aware of his partner's proximity.

His mind slid back to his earlier confessions and of John kissing him. When Reese pulled his hands away, the billionaire experienced a curious sense of loss.

Finch felt a blanket being pulled up over his body. He wrapped it around his shoulders and placed his glasses against the side of the carton. He closed his eyes, the adrenaline he'd been running on for the past few hours had dissipated and he felt exhausted.

"Go to sleep, Harold...I'll take care of you."

 _I know you will, John._ He thought as he was drifting off.


	7. In Plain Sight...

Title: Finite Chances, Infinite Possibilities  
Chapter VII: In Plain Sight  
Pairings: Finch/Reese (first time, slash)  
Rating: NC-17 (violence, graphic sexual descriptions)  
Word Count: 2260

NOTES: Quick recap: on the run from Mark Snow, our intrepid heroes bed down for the evening in Joan's homeless encampment.

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

The alley was dark and he was so cold. What possessed him to be wandering out here in just his shirtsleeves, Finch didn't know. The recluse shivered; the damp night chill seeping through the thin fabric of his dress shirt. _I should go back inside. There's no point in waiting out here._

Finch navigated the concrete steps, reaching out to tug on the library's back door. He wasn't surprised that it was locked, in fact the knowledge that he'd done so automatically before stepping outside gave him comfort. Harold reached into his pocket for his keys but they weren't there.

He tried his other pocket, then the rear pocket of his trousers. Starting to worry, he patted down his waistcoat, inside and out and the breast pocket of his shirt. No keys, no phone, no money.... _nothing_. He looked around him, hoping against all doubt that he'd just dropped the blasted things somewhere. The concrete landing was bare. Finch moved back to the alley and meticulously paced off the area around the steps. Still nothing. 

He felt his heart speed up, anxiety knitting his brows together as he tried to figure out what to- _the alley camera_. All he had to do was show himself to the Machine. It's facial recognition software would do the rest; contacting John for him. Finch's lips twisted in a self-deprecating smirk. _Silly of me to get so worked up. Everyone gets absent-minded at one time or another....I have been missing sleep after all._

Thinking on the necessity of upgrading his overnight accommodations at the library, Finch took up a position directly in front of the camera. Looking up he found himself staring into the amber glow emanating from a street light. _Where's the camera? There's supposed to be a traffic-cam here, there always has been! Where is it?!_

Feeling the first stirrings of real panic in his soul, the recluse limped back to the library steps. A faint flash caught his eye and he looked down at the bottom step. There in a precise line were John Reese’s credentials, his earwig and his cellphone. Harold stared at the items in disbelief then snatched the phone up, hitting the power button. It was dead. Cursing under his breath, he flipped the device over and saw that it’s battery chamber was empty; the back missing altogether. If John had left his phone and ID behind that meant-

_He’s gone....he’s not coming back..._ Finch’s heart slammed against his ribs, his breath coming in short gasps. He was alone, with no resources, no way to contact anyone... _helpless_.

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

"Harold.... _Harold?!_ " 

The urgency in Reese's voice penetrated the billionaire's sleep fogged brain. Finch came back to consciousness to find he was hugging himself; tears streaming down his face as sobs wracked his slight frame.

The op scooted over to his partner, wrapping his arms around the recluse, cursing mentally as he felt how cold the other man was. Reese realized that Finch was crying in the same instant and held him closer.

"Easy....I'm here, you're safe."

All at once Finch became aware of John's arms cradling him against his chest; the warmth of the younger man's body a soothing balm, warding off the chill of his dream. He sucked in great gulps of air, forcing himself to calm down.

The op felt the smaller man's shivering ease and keeping one arm around his waist, used his other to rub Finch's back briskly; in an attempt to help warm him.

"What happened?"

"Just-just a nightmare...it's nothing."

"What about?"

"It doesn't matter, now-"

"If you bury it Harold, it will only start again...maybe worse than before. Just tell me. It won't hurt, you know." Reese's voice was encouraging.

Perhaps it was the fact that he was still groggy from interrupted sleep, or maybe it was the darkness that lent him the courage...in any case Finch took another breath and began to speak.

"I was...I was back in the alley behind the library. The door was locked and I didn't have my keys or wallet; no phone....nothing."

"Was anyone there with you?"

Finch shook his head, even knowing that John wouldn't be able to see the gesture.

"I was alone. I-I looked around and found your cover IDs and cellphone on the library steps....." The recluse closed his eyes against the prick of grief that threatened to overwhelm him again. 

" _You_ were gone...you'd left-." The pronoun hung unspoken between them.

The op tightened his arms around his partner. He pressed his face against the recluse's neck. "It was a dream. I'm here and there's only one way that I'll ever leave you, Harold.”

Finch lifted his head, but the comment he meant to make was cut off abruptly as John's mouth found his with uncanny precision in the darkness. The op's lips moved over the billionaire's with a need that was obvious. Harold was surprised to feel himself responding so quickly but his body knew what it wanted; where it belonged and that was with Reese. 

The younger man filled his senses. Finch smelled sweat and aftershave; heard the ragged breathing of the ex-agent, overlaid by his own quiet sounds of desire as the younger man continued to kiss him. Felt his heartbeat, steady and strong through Reese’s shirt. 

The need to touch John overwhelmed him then. Fingers so nimble and sure at manipulating a computer keyboard now fumbled clumsily with the buttons, undoing them until the taut skin of the op's abdomen was bare beneath his hands. Finch felt his partner's body shiver as the billionaire stroked his torso. 

He wanted more, reaching down to tug Reese's belt loose and undoing the fly of his slacks; breaking their kiss to press his lips against John's chest. The rational part of his brain informed the recluse that stripping his companion and preparing to engage in sexual activity while ensconced in a large cardboard box wasn’t prudent. The rest of Finch’s psyche told it to please _just shut up_ as Harold continued his oral explorations.

"Harold...." John exhaled sharply; almost growling as Finch's lips slid across warm skin to capture John’s nipple. Another growl greeted this action and Finch felt a curious sense of power flow through him. It was time to test his hypothesis. Harold prodded the wrinkled node with the tip of his tongue; feeling it tighten as his employee became aroused. 

_For every action....._ The recluse covered the now taut knot with his mouth, suckling hard. Reese bucked, his hips pushing into Finch; the op’s erection hot and hard against his abdomen. _....there is an equal and opposite reaction._

_“God...Finch....”_

He was making John react this way...middle-aged, out of shape, introverted _Harold Finch_. That realization alone was enough to make him hard. Add to that the fact that the younger man was cupping the back of his employer’s head in one strong hand and gasping his name, brought a flood of heat to Finch’s pelvis. Harold's hips twitched at the thought that Reese found him arousing; squirming as he felt John humming his pleasure, the vibrations ticking down his spine to his crotch.

Finch’s hands slipped inside his partner’s pants, working their way beneath the tight boxer briefs and squeezing John’s backside firmly. Reese lifted his hips at once and the billionaire tugged both garments down; caressing the firm thighs as he worked the clothing to the op’s knees. Snippets of recollection flitted through his mind.....

 

_The last time he'd engaged in fellatio with anyone was the day before Nathan was killed. They'd argued at breakfast, about the irrelevants yet again and Ingram had stormed out of their apartment._

_"You look at these numbers and just see statistics.....strings of text on a computer screen. These are_ PEOPLE _, Harold. Living, breathing human beings. There's nothing 'irrelevant' about them." Ingram stared at him with sorrowful eyes. "Creating the Machine may have been your greatest achievement but is the cost of burying your humanity to do so worth it?"_

_After sulking at his partner's unreasonable sentimentality for a good two hours, he'd cleaned up and headed to work. Closeting himself in his luxurious office, he did what had become his routine in times of stress...access his Machine._

_Another number had been displayed two days earlier and the billionaire used the technological resources at his disposal to research the person. Matilda Harris....single mother of two in Queens. She had come up because of a history of domestic violence between herself and an ex-boyfriend. Current status....deceased. The recluse frowned, digging deeper into the police records he found._

_Finch stared at the screen in front of him, eyes wide with horror. At the exact time he'd been berating Nathan for being impractical, Matilda Harris' ex broke down the door to her apartment; savagely beating the woman to death in front of her two children._

_Harold had gone straight to Nathan's office, throwing out the marketing assistant who was in mid-presentation. Ingram got up from his desk, livid at the abrupt invasion by his partner._

_"Harold, what in the hell are you-"_

_"I'm sorry Nathan. You were right." Finch wrapped the tall man in a tight hug, squeezing him hard enough to make the lanky blond grunt._

_"What are you talking about?"_

_Finch babbled out what he'd found in his research, his breath coming in gasps as he began to sob. Nathan swore and hugged his partner, running soothing hands up and down the smaller man's back._

_"Easy now, Einstein…shhh"_

_"Please don't walk out because I was an idiot!"_

_"Harold….calm down…"_

_Their ensuing talk had led to apologies, acceptances and not a few reassuring intimacies. The rest of the discussion involved brainstorming potential strategies for assisting the irrelevant numbers' list. When they'd returned home that evening, Harold had done his absolute best to show Nathan how much Ingram meant to him. After spending most of the night in such activities, Harold had fallen asleep with his partner's whispered "I love you Einstein." in his ear._

_He was glad that he had that recollection to fall back on when his world shattered the next day._

 

Finch pushed those bittersweet memories aside and concentrated on the man he was with now. The strong, resourceful man who'd become his partner every bit as much as Nathan had been…the man he now loved. 

Reese's erection bobbed in response to his breath against the smooth, tight skin. Finch kissed the base, running his tongue up over the shaft; only peripherally aware of John's moan of happiness. The op was circumcised and although Harold enjoyed the extra sensitivity that having a foreskin brought to sex-play, there was something to be said for having direct access to John's glans without going through a 'plain brown wrapper'. Pacing himself, the recluse teased the swollen head; running the tip of his tongue over its flared ridge, tickling the knot underneath its base.

Finch could hear Reese panting as he took the younger man's crown into his mouth, stroking John's slit with assured swipes of his tongue.

The op felt as if every inch of his skin was on fire, the sensations created by his boss' attentions radiated out from his crotch to vibrate along his nervous system. John realized he was babbling nonsense under his breath, helpless against the erotic onslaught of the older man's deliciously wicked mouth. Not that he _wanted_ to fight it...Reese would be waving a white flag with gusto if he'd had one.

_Finch is...I never thought he'd want me, touch me like this._ Harold chose that moment to add suction and John's brain disengaged from rational thought to better enjoy the ride. When he felt the sensitive fingers grasp his scrotum, he keened. The skin around his testicles contracted, pulling them up against his body. 

Sensing how close the other was to release, Finch slid his tongue across the underside of Reese's head; increasing the suction as he opened and closed his jaws in a rhythmic pressure.

John's lower abdomen tightened, his hips thrusting upward as he emptied himself into the welcoming mouth. _"Harold..."_

Finch ground his pelvis into the pile of blankets beneath their bodies; swallowing everything John gave him. Only when Reese began to soften did Harold release him at last.

"God....Harold." Propping himself up on one elbow, Reese seized the waistband of the smaller man's trousers in his other hand; hauling him bodily up so that they were resting chest to chest. John lay back down, Harold lolling on top of him. The op let go of his partner's pants and slid his fingers down to caress the slender man's backside.

"Just...give me a minute and I'll return the favor..."

Finch shifted, only now becoming aware of the warm wetness pooling in his shorts. "That seems to be moot at this point, John."

"You mean?"

"Ah...apparently."

The billionaire felt rather than heard his op's quiet chuckle, the man's abdominal muscles rumbling beneath Finch's body. Harold began to laugh too, resting one hand on John’s shoulder and reaching out with the other to clasp Reese’s own. His questing fingers felt steel clutched in his partner’s fist.

“Mr. Reese? You’ve had your gun all this time?” 

“Don’t sound so indignant Harold. We're in a refrigerator crate in a warehouse full of people. I’m supposed to be protecting you, in spite of any _distractions_.”

Laughter vibrated through John’s body again as Finch made a chuffing sound of exasperation. “The least you could do is help me with my pants.” 

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**


	8. Below The Radar

Title: Finite Chances, Infinite Possibilities  
Chapter VIII: Below the Radar  
Genre: Slash, First Time, Angst, Adventure, Romance, Drama  
Rating: M to Extreme M  
Warnings: Explicit Violence, Explicit Sexual Encounters  
Pairing: Finch/Reese  
Word Count: 2400

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

_Reese, after putting himself together, persuaded Finch to strip off his underwear, helping the recluse back into his pants...."this feels so uncivilized, I don't see how other men can 'go commando'."_

_John refrained from teasing Harold about his situation; simply pulling the smaller man close to him and wrapping them both up in several layers of blankets. He settled Finch in such a way that the weight of his injured leg was supported by the op's thighs._

_He felt Harold draw in a deep breath, then cuddle closer against his side. Reese let his cheek rest on the crown of spiky hair. "Should have done this in the beginning...you wouldn't have gotten so cold."_

_Finch lay an arm over the tall man's chest, blinking sleepily in the darkness as the warmth of their combined bodies helped him relax. "Perhaps...I might not have had a nightmare."_

_"Hmm....maybe it's just as well then that I didn't."_

_Harold felt himself blush, remembering how he'd all but ravaged his partner. "John I-" He broke off as Reese kissed the crown of his head._

_"Don't Harold....if you're going to say we shouldn't have done what we did, just don't."_

_"I wasn't", Finch whispered. "I wanted to apologize for being so...so forward. I'm not usually like that."_

_This time John did laugh. "You don’t have to Harold...I enjoyed it." He held the recluse closer. "You've been stressed, I'm sorry for that but I'm glad too. I like 'aggressive billionaire genius'. You can let him out to play anytime you want to."_

_"Stop it...." the fact that John could feel Finch's smile took the sting out of his words._

_"Go to sleep....Tiger."_

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

It was late morning before they stirred and by the time John reconnoitered the warehouse, almost all of its inhabitants had vacated the building for the day. The op gathered their cache of belongings into a well-worn duffle bag and assisted his boss from the crate. 

Finch was stiff to be sure but not as sore as he thought he might have been thanks to the extra warmth John's presence had generated. Harold was feeling unkempt however; if he could detect his body odor then surely others would. What he wanted was to bathe and change...at least brush his teeth again before leaving the warehouse.

"It looks like the showers are clear if you want to clean up Finch. I promise, you'll have the place to yourself."

The recluse had never been more grateful for his partner's solid, competent presence than now. His skin itched and the thought of getting clean, even in these primitive conditions was too tempting to resist. Harold nodded and stepped into the empty washroom. Pausing on the threshold, he turned back to the taller man. 

"I don't have anything to change into, not even-", he broke off; his cheeks coloring in embarrassment.

John smiled and handed him a battered daypack. "All taken care of. We'll have to go incognito as we travel but there's stuff in here that will fit you, underwear too. And yes, before you ask they're all _clean_."

The billionaire's jaws clicked shut, he'd been about to inquire just that and took the bag in silence. Harold hung the pack and towel Reese had given him next to one of the shower stalls and stripped out of his rumpled suit. He turned on the water and to his delight, realized that young Mr. Sanders had reconnected enough electricity to power a hot-water heater at least. 

Finch lost himself in the three by three foot world steam and clean water. He took his time; washing every inch of his body before turning his attention to scrubbing his hair. As he massaged shampoo into his scalp, he could feel clumps of suds slipping down his waist and over his backside.

The tickling sensation drew his thoughts to Reese standing guard over the bathroom...John, _fully clothed_ , just a few feet away. Finch's breath quickened and he imagined the op pulling aside the shower curtain; his intense blue gaze roving up and down the recluse's wet, naked body....mouth quirking in that possessive smirk Finch knew so well. Harold groaned as one of his hands trailed over his chest, tweaking his nipple and pictured John's hands on him. 

_John stepping under the shower spray, still clothed....the hot water plastering his white shirt to the op's firm, muscular chest. Reese's hand drifting down to wrap around Harold's stiffening cock; stray suds aiding the movement of op's fingers along his slippery shaft._

Harold bit his lip as he stroked himself; his hips bucking into his tightening fingers. He pinched his nipple harder with his free hand, twisting and pulling on the sensitive nub. Finch gasped, trying to keep his voice quiet as his rhythm quickened; squeezing his penis almost to the point of pain. 

_John's mouth claiming his, even as his fingers yanked Harold's cock hard. Finch pliant, willing, needy...opening his mouth to the younger man's seeking tongue. Reese stroking faster....faster until...._

"Oh...God, _John!_ " Harold's voice was harsh with need as he felt himself come; pools of hot liquid spilling from between his fingers to dissolve into the water slipping down the shower drain.

With total disregard for the grime coating the shower's walls, Finch leaned on the cracked tile; trembling as the aftershocks of his orgasm ticked through his system. The recluse forced himself to take slow, deep breaths...trying to regain control. Harold felt the shower's temperature cool a fraction and stuck his head back under the stream of water, rinsing the shampoo and any lingering traces of his activities from his person. 

Finch turned off the taps and toweled himself down as quickly as possible. He rummaged through the daypack, pulling out socks and underwear; feeling marginally better with these minimal coverings on as he found outer garments in his size.

"Mr. Reese?"

"Don't like my fashion choices, Finch?" John's tone was heavy with amusement.

"I look like a...a..."

"Homeless man?"

"Yes!" The recluse's reply radiated distaste.

"That's the idea Harold. We can't go waltzing down the street looking like ourselves, so we fly beneath Mark's radar." Reese laughed at his employer's outraged huff.

"Don't worry Finch....my clothes will be just as disreputable."

The billionaire stepped out of the bathroom looking very put upon. The op gave the older man a thorough once-over. Finch was wearing a mis-matched selection of gray sweatshirt with a brown plaid flannel shirt and well-worn black hoodie over both.

Scuffed jeans and a pair of battered hi-top sneakers completed the scruffy look. A dark gray knitted watch cap was pulled down over the recluse's spiky hair. John frowned critically and shaking his head, snatched Harold's glasses from his face.

Ignoring Finch's protests, the op cupped his fingers over the lenses and flexed his fingers, snapping the spectacles in two.

"Mr. Reese! Those were seven hundred dollar frames!"

"All the more reason to make them look 'lived in', Harold." John calmly took a piece of wire and used electrical tape to attach it to the broken bridge of Finch's glasses. 

"Homeless people don't wear Armani frames, Finch. There.”

He handed the crudely repaired eyewear back to his employer who regarded the pair of glasses with sadness before putting them back on. The recluse wrinkled his nose, the electrical tape was itchy against his skin.

“Is all this really necessary, John?”

“Yes. We don’t know where Mark and his team are. We’re still safer traveling on foot and wasn’t it you who once told me the best place to hide is in plain sight?”

Finch made no reply as John slipped past him into the bathroom, stripping off his clothes with total disregard for modesty. Harold darted furtive glances at his partner as Reese wiped himself down with a damp cloth then began to dress.

“Aren’t you going to shower?”

John shook his head. “Can’t take the chance on us getting jumped while I’m ‘compromised’. I’ll have to wait until we’re under cover for the night.”

Harold felt guilty. The op had made sure that he’d had the chance to clean up, knowing that Reese himself would be unable to. “I’m sorry I’m such a burden John....” 

“You’re not a burden, Harold. You’re my charge and that means that your safety and comfort come first. Besides...” Reese stepped out of the bathroom now clad in his own motley assortment of garments. “I don’t want to make this situation any harder on you than it has to be.” 

The op let his guard down just long enough to pull the smaller man into the comforting circle of his arms. John pressed his lips to Finch’s forehead, inhaling the fresh scent of his boss’ skin. “I love you Harold...I would do anything to keep you safe.”

Finch hugged him back. “I know John...I love you too.”

“I hope so, after having your way with me last night.”

“John....”, Harold’s cheeks flooded with heat as he recalled again how aggressive he’d been.

“You getting hungry?”

“Yes, but where can we get food looking like this?”

“There’s any number of street trucks to buy from but first we need money and for us that means pan-handling.”

_“WHAT?!”_

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

_They made their way to a section on the outer rim of Central Park where John had ‘begged’ before when he’d been at his lowest point. At the time he’d just stood, head bowed; with a battered cardboard sign bearing the words “Homeless Veteran, Please Help. God Bless.” resting against the curb next to the waxed paper cup at his feet._

_Finch would never agree to that strategy and it wouldn’t work with two of them in any case. Their best bet would be to do some sort of entertaining....which John had also done in the past._

Reese set out a grimy baseball cap to catch change in and a piece of cardboard with ‘Thank You For Your Kindness’ emblazoned on it in black marker. Finch watched curiously as his partner pulled out a harmonica and began to play. The billionaire’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as he recognized a popular Beatles’ song emanating from the battered instrument.

Harold sat down hard on the curb and would have dissolved into laughter if the situation hadn’t been so serious. _Well, Mr. Reese’s files certainly never mentioned this particular skill!_ A small crowd began to gather around the two men and the recluse’s amusement faded into discomfort as he realized both of them were now the center of attention. 

Finch let his gaze fall to the ground and hunched his shoulders, wanting to disappear more than ever. He, Harold Finch...multi-billionaire, was now reduced to cadging stray change from passing strangers. _If only he’d thought to pull some ‘emergency cash’ from the brownstone’s safe before they’d vacated the house. He’d been too worried about Snow catching up with them...catching John, to do so._ A wave of humiliation washed over him. 

The fact that John was playing to their makeshift audience and hamming it up only made things worse. After an hour, the op took a break and the two men counted their earnings. The sum total of coins and a couple of one dollar bills amounted to $3.75.

"No pennies at least...we should be grateful for that." John's comment was rueful. He'd thought people would be more generous. For Harold however, who had ingested nothing more than a few sips of water since arising; enough was enough.

“This is ridiculous. If we have to rely on your musical abilities to acquire money, we’ll never get food.”

Finch levered himself up from the grass and stepped onto the curb. Clearing his throat, the small man grasped the frayed lapel of his jacket in one hand and gestured skyward with the other. He projected his voice as he had in his college theatre days; its unctuous, ringing tones cutting across the babble of conversations from passersby.

_“Friends, Romans, countrymen....lend me your ears._   
_I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him._   
_The evil that men do lives after them,_   
_The good is oft interred with their bones."_

Harold continued reciting passages from Julius Caesar, extemporizing to various people walking by; drawing them in as the other characters in his scenes. 

It was Reese's turn to be amazed. Finch claimed to be inept at human interaction as he termed it but the recluse had thrown himself into his performance with a gusto John would never have imagined of him. 

_Right, two can play at this game Harold!_

John stood up and insinuated himself into his partner's dialogue; taking on the role of Cassius, prompting Finch to change verbal gears in mid-stride. When a beat cop walked by, John took Harold by the shoulders and turned him so that their faces were hidden, declaiming over his shoulder: _"Beware the Ides of March!"_

The group of people watching their impromptu play laughed in delight as both men turned to face them once the coast was clear. As they wound down, Finch lay on the grass, the watch cap covering his eyes; Reese standing over him and eulogizing the fallen Brutus.

_"This was the noblest Roman of them all!_  
 _His life was gentle, and the elements_  
 _So mix'd in him that Nature might stand up_  
 _And say to all the world, 'This was a man!' "_

 

Reese knelt down next to the recluse and placing his hand on Finch’s chest, bowed his head.

The audience clapped, no few of them tossing some money into the baseball cap as they dispersed. John helped Harold sit up and waited until all their watchers had gone before gathering up the cap and bags.

“Let’s find a bench and see how we did.” Reese grinned at his boss as Finch dusted himself off after he stood up. “I’m impressed Harold....that was quite a show.”

“Well....we had to do something. We needed money.” The recluse dug his hands into the hoodie’s pockets; his usual reticence returning in full measure.

They located a quiet bench out of the main foot-traffic flow and took a quick count.

“Including what we had before, we’ve got almost fifteen dollars.” John shot a look of approval at Finch. “Harold, if your businesses ever fold you should do Shakespeare in the Park.”

The older man started to reply when a loud rumbling from the vicinity of his mid-section made itself heard. “May we eat now?”

Reese laughed and shouldered their bags; glancing around at their available food choices. “Sure...what are you in the mood for brats, tacos or falafel?” The recluse groaned.

“I can’t wait to go home.....” Harold’s voice was full of quiet resignation.


	9. It Takes 'The Village'.....

Title: Finite Chances, Infinite Possibilities  
Chapter IX: It Takes 'The Village'…..  
Pairings: Finch/Reese (first time, slash)  
Rating: NC-17 (violence, graphic sexual descriptions)  
Word Count: 2940

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

Two disreputable looking men shambled their way across the borough. The taller of the pair paused frequently to investigate the contents of trashcans or cadge spare change from passing pedestrians. The shorter man, who's noticeable limp engendered winces of sympathy from a few strangers, fidgeted during these times; his pale eyes darting up and down the street from behind mended glasses. After the fourth such display, his companion bumped the older man's shoulder.

"Finch, stop acting so antsy. People will think you're an addict."

"I can't help it Mr. Reese. I'm very aware of how _exposed_ we are out here."

John pulled his boss out of the flow of pedestrians, into a convenient alley where they could speak unnoticed. Reese's blue eyes snapped in anger. "And I'm _not_? Is that what you're saying Finch?"

The recluse was tired. The falafel consumed for lunch earlier had long since faded from his digestive tract and his hip was throbbing. "I can't think of why you would be pawing through garbage or pan-handling when we're in such-"

"I am precisely _because_ we are in danger, Harold!" John turned away from the billionaire, fists clenched at his sides. He struggled to keep his frustration in check. The strain of trying to find another source of safe shelter for them was getting to Reese and the last thing he wanted to do was jeopardize his new _understanding_ with his partner.

"I'm doing what any homeless person would do as they moved from one place to another: looking for anything that could be of value, for anyone willing to give me spare change." 

When the op turned back to face Finch, his eyes were bleak.

"Don't you see Harold? If we hurry across town, if we even _seem_ to have a destination in mind, we'll stand out. Mark's agents will identify us easily. This is the way we have to do things. I thought you trusted me to protect you." 

Finch quieted, seeing at last the desperation in his partner's expression. _This whole situation has been difficult from the outset. John's only just healed, himself…now he has to take care of both of us while still avoiding the CIA…Herculean tasks in the best of circumstances._ He felt ashamed of allowing fears to overcome his rational thought process.

"Of course I trust you John….I'm sorry." Harold reached out to grasp his partner's hand, squawking in surprise as Reese enveloped him in a close embrace. 

"I know you're afraid, Harold…I am too. I don't want to do anything that will endanger you." The op's voice was muffled as he spoke into Finch's shoulder, his lips brushing the side of the recluse's neck.

Finch hugged him back, fingers clenching in the tattered army coat Reese wore. The older man sighed; deciding that of all the people in this restless metropolis he _could_ be making this journey with, Reese was in fact the only one he might admit weakness to without fear of coming to harm as a result. _John’s the only one who knows....or cares._ Harold plucked up his newfound resolve and looked into the anxious face of his partner. 

"I'm tired and getting hungry. N-, I mean my _associates_ always said I turned into the antichrist when I didn't eat with some regularity." he chuckled wryly. "Perhaps you should toss me a hunk of raw meat to placate the entity."

John laughed, hugging his partner tighter. "I’m feeling that way too, Finch. Let's rest here for a minute, we're safe enough."

He guided the billionaire further into the alley and settled him on the back steps of some retail establishment. Sitting beside his friend, Reese wrapped an arm around Harold and pulled him close against his side for warmth. He smiled when he felt Finch's own arm timidly circle his waist; Harold's head resting on his chest.

John kissed his partner's forehead. "I need to think anyway. I don't feel safe returning to the encampment again, it's best if we don't backtrack." He gave a quiet growl of exasperation.

"I have to find us a secure place to sleep though."

"Where are we now?"

"Mid-town, getting close to Greenwich."

" _The Village?_ But that's perfect John!" Finch lifted his face, his eyes brightening. I have a safe house there…one I haven't used in years and not likely to be discovered. It's….well,"

Reese picked up on the self-conscious hesitation in Harold’s voice.

"In a brothel?”, the op prompted.

"No!”, the recluse’s horrified reply was adamant. “It's above a bar."

"That doesn't sound bad, I've been holed up in…"

"A _gay_ bar."

Reese started to laugh as the absurdity of Finch’s embarrassed confession in the midst of their situation, for the moment, outweighed the op's anxieties. He pulled Finch up across his lap. 

"Of course it is…."

"Mr. Reese?!" Finch shifted, trying to slide off his partner’s legs.

"Drop the formality, Harold…I'm about to start making out with you."

"John, _please_ , not here in the open!"

"We're the only ones in this alley Harold,” _aside from a couple of rats, which Finch doesn‘t need informing about..._ “and unless you start fighting me, no-one is going even know we're here." 

Without giving Finch the chance to reply, John leaned down and kissed the recluse.

Harold opened his mouth to protest, only to have his partner's tongue dart between his lips, deepening the contact. He gave voice to a quiet moan, feeling himself go limp against the strong body supporting him. _How had they progressed so quickly from employer-employee to lovers?_

Finch, at a loss to rationalize it, was fast finding that he didn't care. John's mouth on his felt so right, was so much what he wanted that Harold wouldn't have objected even if he were capable of speech. In fact, his body was telling him in no uncertain terms how much it was enjoying the taller man's proximity.

Reese felt Harold squirm in his lap and placed his hands on the recluse's hips to try and settle him when he felt a warm firmness pressing against his wrist. He pulled back from Finch's mouth and slid his fingers over the older man's crotch, smiling at the soft _'ooohhh'_ it drew from him.

"You like that Harold?" John traced the swelling outline of Finch's cock through the worn pants, cupping its hot length and feeling a sense of smug possession as Harold's hips bucked against his hand.

"J-John…..aaahhh…" Finch's protest trailed off as he felt Reese undo his belt and pop the fly on his jeans, unzipping them just enough to push his hands into the threadbare briefs. John's fingers were amazing, skillfully playing with him until Harold thought his brain would melt.

"So where is your safe house, Harold?" Reese's breath was hot against his ear and Finch was hard-pressed to maintain coherent thought as John continued to tease him.

"Above-above a place called 'O.W.'s'."

"And how do we get inside?" John's fingers felt pre-seminal fluid leaking from Harold's tip and smeared it over the recluse's crown, applying deft pressure to the sensitive underside of Finch's penis.

"John…. _oh God…please, I can't….._ "

"How, Harold or I stop right now."

"I have to talk to the bartender….He knows me, well, _one_ of me."

"Is he reliable?"

"Solid…. _mmmmm_ ….owes me."

"Sounds like a plan then." John gave Harold's cock a long lingering stroke then released him. 

"W-what? Why di-"

John lifted his partner up and turning, laid him down against the steps. The op settled himself between Harold's thighs and took the smaller man in his mouth. He hummed in amusement as Finch threw his head back, his eyes screwing shut as Reese began to work Harold's erection with his lips and tongue.

A quiet string of invectives poured forth from the billionaire's lips, no less emphatic for being whispered. Reese tuned them out, concentrating on the salty-musky taste of Harold's cock, literally weeping pre-cum now and of how much he loved the mercurial, tough as nails man he was pleasuring.

Finch's fingers stroked John's scalp, cupping his head and Reese realized that the older man's vocalizations had coalesced into one word: _John_. Harold repeated it over an over, like a mantra for salvation.

Harold felt a tightness building in his belly and knew he was close. John's mouth felt incredible. He didn't want it to end but this conclusion was foregone and he cried out as he came between his partner's willing lips. He could do nothing but lay on the steps, spasms ticcing across his hips and lower back as John licked him clean before straightening his clothing again. He let the tall man gather him back up into the circle of his arms; enjoying the warmth and closeness John shared with him.

"How you doing, Harold?"

"I think you're going to give me a heart attack one of these days, John…"

"You're more relaxed though, aren't you?"

"I….yes." and Harold realized it was true. His anxiety level was almost non-existent, buried underneath the endorphins flooding his nervous system. His pain had receded for the moment as well.

"Mission accomplished then."

"You are impossible!"

"Now, Finch…" Reese wagged a finger at him as he kissed Harold again before helping him to his feet. "Don't get upset, you'll undo all the good we just did you." 

He looked at his partner, his blue eyes dark with emotion. " _Are_ you feeling better, Harold? Can you make it a little further?"

"Yes. Let's get under cover for the night." He met his partner's gaze with determination and Reese felt his heart contract again.

"I love you Harold Finch."

The recluse blushed, a small smile playing at his lips. "I love you too, John."

They moved back up to the mouth of the alley, Reese observing the pedestrian traffic with care before they stepped out into it, merging with the tide of humanity flooding Manhattan's sidewalks. This time the two men moved as if they'd spent a lifetime together; Finch pulling on his partner's sleeve to point out an interesting object in a trash bin or extending his hand to collect a dollar bill or handful of coins in his paper cup.

They made it to Greenwich Village just as dusk began to close in.

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

_Back entrance, O.W.'s_

Finch took off the watchcap, stuffing it into his pocket and smoothing his hair in an unconscious gesture to ease his nervousness. He looked back at his companion. "Will you let me handle this, John?"

Reese shrugged. "Your turf Harold, you know best. I'll keep quiet."

Harold nodded and limped up the steps to a steel door. He knocked three times, then once, then twice again.

The door opened a crack and Finch exchanged quiet words with what John assumed was a member of the bar staff. The door closed and Finch turned to look at his partner.

"Now what?" Reese asked.

"We wait. Rupert should be-"

The door opened again, fully enough this time to reveal the person of a large, beefy looking young man with long wavy brown hair. He had stubble on his chin and the impressive pair of mutton-chops gracing his cheeks more than made up for his scraggly mustache. His chocolate colored eyes lit up happily when he caught sight of Finch.

_"Goose-Man!"_

The newcomer swept Harold up into a hug that lifted him off his feet. Reese took a step forward only to stop short as he heard Finch laugh. The sound was so unexpected that it took the op by surprise. Harold rarely laughed and John had never heard him do so with such unrestrained abandon. Despite the exuberance of the bear-like man's welcome, he held his friend with a gentleness that belied his appearance. Reese couldn’t help smiling at the happiness in the staff member’s greeting. _This must be the bartender...._

"Rupert! It's good to see you!"

"Dude! Where you keepin' yourself lately? It has been like a wasteland without you here, man." The merry brown eyes looked John over and his grin widened. "Hey, who's long, lean and lethally gorgeous here?"

"Put me down, please."

"Oh…sorry dude."

"Rupert Hurley, I'd like you to meet John, my partner."

"Goosey! You sly old dog, you!" Rupert reached out and pulled John into an embrace just as enthusiastic as the one he'd given Finch. "Pleased to meet you, John. Anyone near and dear to Harry Gander is family to me!"

When he released the op, John staggered back a step. "Good to meet you too Rupert."

"Please…call me Hugh…that's my middle name. Rupert's so formal." He grinned at Finch. "Harry gets away with it because I owe him back to the stone age." The bartender looked Reese over again, his boisterous joviality dimming as his expression grew serious. 

"I hope you realize how lucky you are John. Harry is one hell of a guy and he deserves the best. We been friends for some time and I'll personally put a world of hurt on anyone who does him wrong."

John's own eyes were hard as he looked back at the younger man. "You and me both, Hugh. Harry is my life." John stepped up behind Finch and hugged him close. The big man's face broke into a knowing smile as he watched Harold's cheeks flush.

"Oh, Goose-Man…you got it _bad_ , don'tcha?" He beckoned the two men inside.

"Well don't just stand out there in the dark. Your place is ready and waitin' for you Harry. Follow me and I'll get you the key."

Finch and Reese followed Hugh into the bar's stockroom. Harold sighed in relief, feeling warmth wash over him. He was feeling the strain of traveling all day again and was ready to go to ground. John moved up to his side, clasping Finch's hand in his own and squeezing his fingers gently. 

Hugh left them for a moment then bustled back with a set of keys dangling from a plastic daisy. "Here you go Goose-man. You need anything, you just let me know…otherwise you won't be bothered."

"Thank you Rupert. John would you mind going up and turning the lights on? There's only one apartment on the third floor." Reese took the keys and headed up the stairs.

Finch turned back to the man who had been one of the few irrelevants Harold had managed to help on his own, when he started his crusade. _Rupert Hurley, targeted for harassment by a gang of spoiled, upper-class teenagers due to his sexual orientation…simply because they were **bored**. The Machine wouldn't have picked him out simply for being the victim of petty tormenting but the boys had chosen to escalate their hazing into something more serious….murder._

_Finch had been able to gather evidence, surveillance video, recordings of telephone calls and texts between the teens. He also got a hold of the receipt for the gun purchase, thanks to a bribable pawnshop owner. The man had been charged but wound up being promised immunity if he co-operated with the police. It was a no-brainer even for the likes of him._

_As it turned out, Hurley had been living on the streets after being kicked out by his boyfriend of six years. Finch had offered him the second floor apartment in 'O.W.'s' building and the job of bussing tables. Rupert had repaid the recluse's generosity by working hard, getting to know the bar's clientele and taking business and bartending courses on his own time. Harold had apprenticed him under Giles, the former barkeep and Hurley had taken over the job when the old man retired last year._

"I'm happy to see you doing so well, Rupert."

"You too, Goose-man…although, the 'slumming' look don’t do much for you. You want your stuff?"

"Please."

"Just as well, you need to clean up and get some better plumage on for that swan of yours." He grinned again as he passed over a messenger bag and a suitcase.

"I'm sure there aren't any perishables upstairs, would you mind ordering something for us?"

"No sooner said than done, Goosey! Have your fine cob meet me here in forty minutes and I'll send him back up with dinner. Leave it to me!"

Finch's smile was warm as he patted his young friend's arm. "Thank you Rupert. I can't tell you how much we appreciate th-"

Hurley waved him into silence. "Anything you ever want or need that I can do for you Harry, you know I will. I'm the one that should be thanking you, not vice versa."

The kind, brown eyes looked Finch over.

"I don't know where you found him, Harry but your John seems like a really good guy. Never thought I'd see you get together with anyone…" Hugh paused, smiling shyly at his friend. "You’re not sad anymore…I'm glad for you, Harry."

Finch smiled at the younger man. " _I'm_ pleased you like John, Rupert. He's….very good for me."

Hurley leaned in and hugged Finch again, with a warmth that caused a lump to rise in Harold's throat. "Then you keep hold of him." Rupert laughed. "I don't think John's the type to let you go easily anyway. It‘s plain as day that he‘s crazy about you."

"You‘re right, he wouldn‘t...nor I him. Goodnight Rupert.”

" ‘Night Goose-Man…don't you both stay up all hours preening each other."

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

NOTES: A _cob_ is the term for an adult, male swan. As for Mr. Rupert Hurley....I’ve never actually watched a single episode of ‘LOST’ but the bits of fanvids I have seen that feature Ben and Hugo seem to indicate, at least later on in the series, a tentative friendship developing between the two characters (from a non-viewer’s point of view anyway, lol). I thought it would be fun to include a variation of him in the FCIP Poi-verse, even if just in a cameo role.

As far as the names Rupert and Giles go....sorry to disappoint anyone but these just popped randomly into my brain as I was pummeling my gray cells for men's monikers. I had no clue of the 'Buffy' connections until someone pointed it out to me. Ah, the co-incidental places my mind gets taken to by my plotlines, lol! (though as an aside, the actor who played Giles is one good looking man!)

ENJOY!


	10. Now You See Me

Title: Finite Chances, Infinite Possibilities  
Chapter X: Now You See Me  
Rating: NC-17 (sex between two men)  
Pairing: Reese/Finch (new relationship)  
Characters: Harold Finch, John Reese  
Word Count: 2700

NOTES: Picks up almost immediately following the events of Chapter 9.

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

Harold Finch was fed, freshly showered and at last sporting clothing of his own, casual though it was. The recluse relaxed into the familiar comfort of the overstuffed sofa in his Greenwich Village apartment. He and his partner were safe and with minimal effort on their part, would remain so for as long as they needed to stay at their current location.

Finch looked up as the bathroom door opened to reveal a damp John Reese, towel flung carelessly about his hips and his hair in disarray. The op offered his signature crooked smile to Harold as he crossed the room to snag yet another bottled water from the refrigerator. Finch couldn’t help admiring the muscular back and strong legs on open display before him.

The recluse watched as John downed half of it almost in one gulp. “I can’t believe you’re still thirsty.”

Reese polished off the remaining water, tossing the empty bottle into the trash before collapsing onto the other end of the sofa with a deep sigh.

“I think the place your friend ordered our food from is trying to kill their patrons through the deadly use of sodium.”

John gave his partner a sidelong glance. “Any idea why Hurley winked and gave me a high five when I picked up our dinner?”

Finch snorted in amusement. 

"Rupert is under the assumption that we are currently engaging in a prolonged session of intercourse."

Reese knelt down in front of Finch, tilting his head to look up into the pale eyes he'd come to rely on to connect him with the world. "We could be....if you want to."

Finch blushed up to the roots of his hair, only John's quick reflexes saving Harold's tea mug from shattering on the floor. "I- I don't think I'm ready for-"

"I was talking about myself, Harold." The op's comment was so soft that Finch almost didn't catch it.

"Oh...you mean? _Oh!_ " Finch felt his face grow even warmer as the implication of Reese's words dawned on him. _He wants to....he wants ME to?! Oh God.....Nathan was always.... **always**. I've no experience at…..I should tell him, I suppose._ He placed his hand on the op's shoulder, unwilling to look at him.

"John…I've never been with anyone who wanted me to…to do that to them before."

Strong fingers stroked Finch's chin, lifting his face until the recluse's worried, pale gaze met Reese's own. Harold’s breath caught at the warm understanding he saw in his partner's eyes.

"It's alright. I can guide you through it, or you can experiment if you like. I trust you Harold."

Such a simple declaration and yet Finch knew how much courage it had taken John to get to the point where he truly _could_ trust someone again. Knew it because he, Harold Finch felt the same about Reese. He touched the back of John’s hand with gentle fingers.

“Are you sure you want this?”

“I _need_ this, Finch.” The op’s voice was rough with longing. “I need to know you’re okay...and I want-”

“What, John?”

Reese’s hand flipped, catching Finch’s fingers in his own and squeezing them.

“I want to be close to you....as close to you as I possibly can be.”

Finch swallowed, finding the thought of sharing this with John incredibly arousing. “I want that too.”

“Then I’m yours, Harold.”

Reese stood up and pulled the towel from his waist with one hand, tossing the terrycloth sheet onto the table. He stood in front of the man who, although only recently his lover, had been the center of his world for over two years. He made no attempt to cover himself, showing Finch in no uncertain terms that he in fact belonged to Harold, body and soul.

For a long moment Finch just looked at John, fully appreciating his partner’s beauty. John’s cock, already half-hard, swelled even more in response to his visual appraisal. Reese shifted, angling his upper body towards Finch.

“Harold.....touch me..... _please_.”

Finch levered himself to his feet and taking the op’s hand in his, led Reese over to the old brass bedstead. Once there, Harold found himself at a loss as how to proceed. He'd all but torn John's suit off in the homeless camp, feeling none of the self-conscious hesitancy that gripped him now. Granted the circumstances were quite different...Harold had been on edge thanks to their unplanned flight from the safe house and the after-effects of his own nightmare. 

_But this, this is so bizarrely normal. We're like any pair of new lovers....._ and it clicked. John and he could be any couple, _anywhere_...preparing to make love. There was no darkness here, no anonymity. He would be unable to hide from Reese...not his feelings and certainly not his injuries.

True, they had shared moments of intimacy in the past 48 hours but Finch had never been fully nude in front of his partner before... _well, not that I was conscious of anyway_ , he amended to himself. Reese _had_ seen his scars; John having been the one to bathe him following Finch‘s assault in the alleyway. Harold thought back on everything that had happened since leaving the brownstone. 

Not once had Reese treated him as if he were incapable or damaged. John had taken the lead because he knew what to do to keep them safe but he’d been willing to defer to Finch’s knowledge and suggestions and he certainly didn’t pity Harold. The recluse felt his cheeks color again as he recalled his angry confessions to John. Even after all that, Reese had stayed with him....had _wanted_ him and still did. Harold exhaled, making up his mind. 

Finch’s hands moved to unbutton his polo shirt when John’s fingers covered his. 

“Let me...”

With the same tender care that Reese had shown while holding Leila, the ex-soldier removed Harold’s clothing piece by piece. When Finch’s chest was revealed to his eyes, John gave a quiet exclamation of pleasure.

“Harold, look at all this...” Reese couldn’t resist running his fingers over Finch’s pecs, burying them in the thick gray-brown hair covering his partner’s skin.

“I know....it’s a lot of-”

“I like it!” John leaned in to rub his face over Harold‘s chest, nuzzling Finch’s breastbone.

Finch gasped as John’s lips found a nipple and began to suckle. Any lingering embarrassment was quickly subsumed by a ticklish heat that centered at the point where Reese's mouth was teasing him; tendrils of sensation sparking down his spine, his legs and his groin. Harold's hands moved up to cup the back of John's head, pushing through the disheveled hair; gently scratching his scalp.

Reese groaned in pleasure, releasing Harold’s nipple and thrust his head against Finch’s hands. The recluse responded with a quiet chuckle and scratched more firmly, moving his fingers over every inch of John’s head.

“I once had a Labrador that liked his ears scratched too....you sound just like him.”

John snorted in reply but didn’t bother arguing; his eyes now screwed shut in blissful enjoyment. He smiled himself when he felt Finch’s lips on his forehead, kissing along his brow from one temple to the other. Harold’s breath was warm against his skin.

“Do you still want-are you sure?”

“More than anything, Harold.” Reese straightened up and the look in his eyes was full of longing. “You’re in charge here....tell me how you want me.”

Finch leaned into his partner, taking comfort in the warm strength of Reese’s frame. He wanted John with every fibre of his being but he was also conscious of the stresses his body had dealt with in an already long day. 

“Given what we’ve gone through today, I’m afraid that I’ll have to be lying down.” Finch’s laugh was self-deprecating. “Not quite the romantic cementing of our _union_ you might have hoped for, Mr. Reese.”

“You think this is the only time I’ll want you to top me, Finch? You‘ll have ample opportunity to try whatever positions you‘d like.” The op’s gravelly, lustful comment re-ignited Harold’s desire.

“Get to your hands and knees, elbows on the bed and...” Finch broke off, swearing. “We don’t even have any lotion to prepare you,”

“On the table...” John nodded towards the cardboard box in which he’d brought the food containers. “You’re friend Hurley thought it might come in handy.”

Finch located the lube, shaking his head at the smiley-faced heart the bartender had scrawled on a Post It note and stuck to the bottle. “Rupert always was precocious and entirely too nosy.”

“He means well,” John replied taking his position on the bed as Harold returned to his side. “I for one, appreciate his forethought.”

“I don’t see any condoms,”

“Don’t want them...don’t _need_ them, Harold.” John all but growled and Finch flushed again, the thought of taking Reese bareback turning him on even more. 

Finch squeezed a generous amount of the slick, clear fluid onto his hand; pressing his palms together a moment to warm the gel. He thought back to how Nathan would prepare him...the images in his mind quickly losing their sting of sadness and loss as he concentrated on the actual procedure. Harold knew what he liked, what felt good to him. _Best to start there and we’ll both learn as we go along._

John closed his eyes; head cradled on his forearms, his hips thrust up with knees spread wide in what he knew would be an irresistibly tempting fashion. Reese had only bottomed with one other person in his life....only _trusted_ one other person with that control. Jessica had been willing to top him because John wanted it but she’d never taken the same joy in it that he had. To be able to give himself up to someone again; knowing that person would never hurt him, would bring him pleasure and be just as pleased in turn, was heady indeed.

He smiled as he felt the back of Finch’s hand rubbing across his buttocks. The recluse’s skin, although smooth from lack of the calluses created by manual labor, covered fingers made strong by the manipulation of keyboards and fine components. Harold’s delicate sense of touch would stand them both in good stead now.

“Wider...” One word, barely whispered but so full of need that Reese responded immediately; reaching back with one hand to grip his left thigh just behind his knee.

“Are you comfortable?”

“M’fine Harold.....need you.”

Finch nodded, too caught up in their actions to remember that John couldn’t see the motion. Harold pressed a slick fingertip against John’s anus, stroking in slow circles over the puckered ring of muscles. Reese groaned, the sound emanating deep within his gut as his opening was manipulated with such dexterous control.

Encouraged by his partner’s reaction, Harold continued his caresses, slowly working his finger inside Reese in tiny increments. Finch massaged John’s tight, hot passage with strokes that alternated between featherlight and firm; pressing against the now lube slick walls to gently stretch and relax him.

John’s hips bucked as he felt his muscles loosen in response to Harold’s probing. He bit back a whimper when Finch pulled out; sighing in relief as his partner now slipped two fingers inside him. 

“You’re good...Finch.” The op’s voice was rough with suppressed passion. “Thought this was....first time.”

“It is. I’m touching you the way _I_ like to be touched. I’m very happy to know you’re enjoying it.”

“Fucking amazing!”

Finch couldn’t help but smile, a feeling of smug pride permeating his being. _Maybe I’ll make this work after all._ He rotated his wrist back and forth, scissoring his fingers to further work and stretch John. Harold thought he would be ready soon. _I’m not huge by any means but I should be able to....hmmm._ Finch pushed in a little further, angling his fingers downward until-

**_“Harold!”_**

Finch clutched at John’s hips to keep from falling over as Reese jerked in response to his prostate being massaged. The recluse pulled his fingers out again, wiping them on some paper napkins left over from dinner. 

Finch rubbed his partner’s lower back to get his attention. “I need you to move John, so that I can lay down.”

Reese was up at once and Harold eased himself onto the mattress, rearranging pillows to support his spine. Once he was comfortable, Finch looked over to see John standing at 'parade rest'; his cock angled up against his belly, beads of precum glistening on its head. Reese really was beautiful and Finch was amazed anew that the man was here, with him....waiting only for Harold’s permission to straddle him. 

The recluse took his time preparing himself; squirting another dollop of lube into his hand then reaching down to grasp his own penis, slowly stroking himself into full arousal. Reese’s eyes mirrored the movements of Finch’s hand, the op’s tongue darting out to moisten his lips. Harold found such undivided attention to his actions very stimulating and sooner than he expected, Finch was rock hard. He held out his free hand to John.

“I’m ready if you are.”

“Been ready longer than you could possibly imagine, Finch.” Reese’s lips twisted into a smirk that was slightly embarrassed as he took Harold’s hand carefully settled over his partner. John bent down and captured Finch’s mouth with his and conveying without words his love for the older man. When he sat back, his smile was the twin of Harold’s, open and full of warmth.

“May I?”

Finch nodded and sighed as Reese slowly lowered himself onto Harold’s erection. Finch moaned in ecstasy as he was enveloped by John’s incredible heat. When Reese’s buttocks touched his thighs, Harold realized that he was being embraced as deeply as he possibly could by his lover. _Dear God, no wonder Nathan always wanted to top_ , and for a split second Finch felt a flare of anger at his deceased partner. _Why couldn’t he share this with me? Why didn’t-_

Finch stopped. Everything that he’d had with Ingram was water under the bridge. He would always cherish the memories he had of Nathan and of their relationship, but he refused to allow those memories to intrude on what he had now with John. He looked up to see Reese, his eyes closed and his head thrown back, mouth open slightly; face alight with an expression of _wholeness_ Harold had never seen John wear before. He felt his heart swell and he tapped his partner’s thighs to reconnect with him.

John looked down at once to see Finch smiling up at him again. “Go at your own pace, John. I want this to be so good for you.”

“It is good, Finch. I’m with _you_.” Reese shifted a bit, rising up on his knees until Harold was almost completely out of him, then sinking down to take him in again. Finch managed to move his hips enough to provide additional friction and found himself hard pressed to keep from coming.

Harold watched as John’s rhythm and force increased, noting that when he hit the other man’s prostate, Reese would grunt. He deliberately shifted his pelvis until he found the perfect angle and was rewarded with a hearty _“Damn it Harold! Yes!”_

John pistoned up and down on Harold’s willing shaft and just as he was reaching down to touch himself, felt Finch’s hand close around his cock, pumping it in time with Reese’s thrusts. “Close... _so close Finch..._ ”

“Come for me John, _please!_ ”

Reese bucked his hips a final time and Harold felt hot stripes cover his chest, marking him with John’s essence. _For me, because of me!_ These thoughts pushed Finch over the edge and John cried out as he felt Harold’s release deep inside of him.

_“God, Harold!”_

Hot tears slipped from beneath Finch’s eyelids, rolling down his cheeks to soak into the pillows and he reached up to clasp hands with the man he’d just loved.

“John.....John....” Harold’s voice was tinged with wonder and all at once he began to laugh, even as his eyes still leaked moisture.

Reese slipped off of Finch’s softening cock and gathering the smaller man up into his arms spooned against his back, wrapping himself around Harold’s quivering body.

“That was, I never knew-”

John chuckled, kissing the crown of Harold’s head. “It certainly was.” His arms encircled Finch, cuddling him closer. “Think you might want to try it again sometime?”

“Just you try and stop me, Mr. Reese!”

They both broke up into laughter at Harold’s emphatic pronouncement. 

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**


	11. Sorties and Serenades

Title: Finite Chances, Infinite Possibilities  
Chapter XI: Sorties and Serenades  
Rating: NC-17 (sex between two men)  
Pairing: Reese/Finch (newly established relationship)  
Characters: Harold Finch, John Reese  
Word Count: 3,200

NOTES: Day following events of Chapter X

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

“The fact that I know you have to do this doesn’t mean I _approve_ of it...”

Finch stood by the window overlooking the front entrance of the bar; arms folded stiffly against his chest. His companion sighed, fully cognizant of the recluse’s unhappiness and regretting that he himself was the cause of it.

“Harold....”

Finch tore his gaze from the street, his eyes locking onto Reese’s as he limped back to his partner. “I won’t ask you not to go but...” Harold’s fingers gripped the op’s arm with tight desperation. “Just....promise me you’ll be cautious?”

“I have the best backup on the planet watching out for me, Harold.” John tapped his temple. “I always do when you’re in my ear.”

Reese gave Finch a lingering kiss and stepped out into the hallway.

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

"Hey John, everything alright?"

Locking the apartment door behind him, Reese turned to see Hurley on the second floor landing, an expression of concern settling onto his face as he noted the op descending the stairs alone. The op smiled in reassurance.

"Everything's fine Hugh. I have some business to deal with this morning." 

Rupert nodded. "Gotcha. Just wanted to-"

"Make sure I'm taking care of Harold?" John's grin took the sting out of his words and Hurley had the grace to look sheepish.

"None of my business, I know…but with as long as I've known Harry...well,"

Reese gripped the younger man's shoulder. "It's alright, Hugh. I understand…I feel the same way about him myself." He thought for a moment and then motioned Hurley to follow him down to the ground floor. When John was certain they were alone, he turned his phone off and looked at the bartender with serious eyes. 

"Hugh, Harold and I are-"

"Dude, I get it." Rupert waved his hand. "You guys have to lay low…I know the signs man; why else would you and Goosey show up on the doorstep at dusk? I'm not worried, Harry'd never be mixed up in anything illegal but it's best if you guys stay out of sight for a bit, right?"

John nodded, grateful that he was so swift on the uptake. "Thing is, I've got to be out for most of the day and…well, would you keep an eye on Harold for me?"

Hurley engulfed the taller man in another of his hugs. "John, anyone wants to get to the Gooseman, they gotta go through me first. Harry's the father I _wished_ I'd had." His brown eyes shone with purpose. 

"I was hoping Harry'd come down and keep me company anyway. Don't you worry, I'll stick to him like he's a case of fifty year old scotch."

"Thanks Hugh, if you can get him to actually eat something too I'll owe you one."

"Consider it done." Rupert grinned at Reese. "You guys sure are great together, by the way…I can tell you really care about him, John."

Reese smiled in return, his eyes warm. "I do, Hugh. Thanks again."

The op was almost out the door when the bartender's whistle made him look back. John deftly caught the small, metallic object Hurley threw to him.

"Keys to the backdoor. You and Goosey come and go as you please."

Reese waved a thank you and slipped into the alley behind the bar. Standing at the foot of the steps, he inhaled the morning air. Waking up with Finch in his arms had been a precious gift. Knowing Harold had trusted John enough to remain in bed all night with him meant even more.

Much as he'd wanted to spend the whole day with Finch, preferably naked and in bed; John knew he had to do recon on the library and their abandoned safe house. He needed to find out if Mark and his cohorts were any closer to tracking them down. His fingers absently rubbed the keyfob's surface as he collected his thoughts. 

Feeling the raised markings of type, John looked down at it: _'I can resist ANYTHING but temptation.' -- O. Wilde_ Grinning, he flipped the disk over to see a cloisonné carnation, enameled in vivid shades of green on its opposite face. If luck were with him, John would be able to indulge in temptations of his own before the day was done. Slipping the keys into his pocket, Reese began making his way cautiously across town.

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

_Harold Finch could think of any number of ways to return to consciousness after a night's sleep. None of them, however came close to the pleasure of slowly waking up to the sensation of John Reese’s mouth roaming over his body. The op’s warm lips traced the line of Finch’s neck; pausing to lick the hollow where it joined Harold’s shoulder, then moving on to his pectorals and down to his naval._

_Finch was fully awake by the time Reese reached his groin and took Harold’s cock into his mouth. A quiet moan of pleasure was the only morning greeting Finch found himself capable of uttering. All too soon it was over. John released the softening organ after swallowing down every drop Harold gave him; then, ignoring Finch’s offers to reciprocate, spooned up against the recluse’s back._

_Finch, lax and euphoric thanks to the endorphins flooding his system, still managed to get his brain back to some semblance of rational thought._

_“You’re going out, aren’t you?”_

_Harold could hear and feel the sigh from his partner._

_“I have to Finch. We need to know what Mark does...where he’s at, what he’s found out; if anything.”_

_He’d digested John’s logic for a moment before levering himself out of bed. Wrapping an old gray robe around his body, Harold picked up his glasses and limped across the room to stare unseeing out of the window._

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

An hour later, still barefoot and naked beneath his robe, Harold Finch now sat at the tiny dinette table; fingers flying over the keys of his laptop as he monitored his partner’s movements. _The surest way to have him return is to do what I do best.... to keep him as safe as possible, and alive._

_“Finch, you there?”_

“As ever, Mr. Reese. Is everything alright?”

_“Fine for now. No sign of Snow’s team yet but then I’m still a ways out from the brownstone.”_

“No-one has entered it since we left, John.” The tap-tap-click of Finch’s diligent retrieval of information carried over the op’s comm link, bringing a smile to Reese’s lips.

“I’ve just taken a look at the external surveillance feeds. A black SUV with government plates was recorded four times on the street last evening....it didn’t stop, however.”

_“Sounds like Mark knows vicinity but not exact location then. The house should be safe to come back to at a later date if we need it. I’m going to head over to the library now...I‘ll keep a long distance eye on the place from the church across the street. I won‘t move in if I see them Finch, I promise. If there‘s no sign of Snow after a few hours, I‘ll get some gear for us and head back to you.”_

“John...”

_“I know, me too.”_

“Be careful.”

_“Always....”_

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

Faced with the choice between staying in the apartment alone or waiting out being at loose ends with some company; Finch showered, dressed and made his way down to the bar. Hurley was behind the gleaming mahogany counter getting things tidied up before opening time. The bushy-haired young man looked up at the sound of creaking stairs and Finch felt a warmth wash over him as Hugh’s face broke into a pleased smile.

“Goosey! Very good late morning to you.”

“Good morning Rupert.”

“Get any sleep last night, Harry?” Hugh waggled his eyebrows at the older man.

“Enough,” Finch chuckled in response to the young man’s teasing. “I suppose I should thank you for the _gift_.” He shot a piercing look over his glasses, making Hurley squirm.

“Well, I mean....I hope-” The brown eyes were full of apology. Finch reassured him with a smile.

“I also appreciate you allowing us to impose upon your hospitality. John and I will be here another few days at least. We’ll try not to be underfoot.”

“Harry, you stay as long as you want to....as long as you _need_ to.” Hugh dropped his gaze to the glass in his hands; polishing it so intently that Finch feared the friction might melt the tumbler. 

“I wish we’d see more of you, Harry.” Hurley shrugged. “I like that we keep up with email and all but...well, I miss you. You’re the only real family I’ve got.”

Finch swallowed. He’d missed Hurley too, regretting that events of late had kept him from visiting his friend. Watching Rupert grow into the confident and competent person he'd become was one of Harold's proudest memories of all his early attempts at helping the irrelevants.

“I know Rupert. I’m sorry that I’ve been so busy.”

“I understand Harry, I really do.” The bartender put aside glass and rag and turned to face his friend. Hugh's good-natured grin was infectious. 

“You’ve been helping other people, like you helped me. That’s important work. Anything I can do for you from my end, ever, all you have to do is ask.”

Hurley glanced at the clock over the cash register. “You eat any breakfast, Gooseman?” Laughing at Finch’s negative response, Hugh shook his head and motioned the older man over to a booth. 

“Thought not. You wait here and I’ll whip us up something. We’ve got time for lunch before opening up.” He grinned at Harold. “Wanna help me ‘tend until John gets back? The _Wilde Ones_ would love to see you.”

Finch laughed, remembering the group of superannuated patrons who’d declared themselves the unofficial guardians of the bar. “That sounds wonderful, Rupert. Are you sure I can’t-” Hurley’s head shake cut him off mid-sentence.

“You just sit tight, Harry. Pub grub will be coming up soon.”

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

At first glance, the bar was unprepossessing to say the least. The four-storey brick facade blended almost seamlessly with its neighbors on either side. Although the twin lamp fixtures flanking the front entrance had been upgraded from gaslight to electricity, the hand-blown green globes adorning them were original to the property.

Double doors painted a dark shade of teal stood as silent sentinels holding back the bustle of the outside world. Behind them, a fantastic oasis of luxury awaited anyone willing to step through the wooden portals. 

Blues and greens of every hue bedecked cushions, carpets and crown molding alike. Antique oak tables were scattered about the space. Booths in the corners closest to the doors were upholstered in peacock colored velvet; their seats shiny from cradling the rumps of nearly three generations of patrons. 

The wallpaper was of vintage Victorian design, its colors echoing in muted tones those around it. On the wall behind the bar, perfectly centered, hung a splendid oil portrait of Mr. Wilde himself. 

The artist’s rendering was exacting in every detail; from the faint sheen of pomade in Oscar’s hair to the fiery glints visible in the depths of the ruby ring gracing his right index finger. His pale eyes shone with intelligence and the man’s signature wit was evident in the amused quirk of his lips. A single green carnation rested in his lapel buttonhole; a fashion reverently followed by the bar’s staff.

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

_Harold checked in with John surreptitiously several times throughout the afternoon; reassured both by Reese’s adherence to his promise of watching from afar and the fact that the op had seen no sign of Snow or his cronies. John had opted to wait until dark to enter the library, a strategy Finch more than agreed with._

The recluse returned to the third floor to change in preparation for assisting Hurley behind the bar. Clad now in a black shirt with matching cobalt paisley waistcoat and tie, a pair of striped trousers, comfortable black shoes and the requisite green carnation, Finch joined his friend to open the pub.

True to Hurley’s prediction; George, Marty, Samuel and Alistair greeted the return of Harry Gander with undisguised pleasure. The four friends had come in together just after five o’clock and met Finch with handshakes, backslaps and offers of a drink. 

O.W.'s clientele consisted of the older demographic range; those in long-term relationships and younger men who preferred to find older partners. The atmosphere was more sedate than a 'club bar' but the patrons no less convivial or fun-loving. There were no televisions in O.W.'s....nor a jukebox. The bar's sound system piped in classical selections alternating with Victorian era music hall and popular songs.

Indeed, the _Wilde Ones_ were currently entertaining the rest of bar's customers with a lively rendition of 'Knocked 'Em in the Old Kent Road', with a slight alteration to the lyrics.

 

_Ev'ry evenin' on the stroke of five;_  
 _Me and mister takes a little ride._  
 _You'd say 'wonderful they're still alive',_  
 _If you saw the pair of us go!_

_I soon showed 'im that 'ed have to do,_  
 _Just wot ever 'e was wanted to._  
 _Still I shant forget you rowdy crew;_  
 _Ollerin’ ‘whoa! steady, Teddy...GO!’_

_Wotcher!’ all our neighbors cried;_  
 _‘Did you get yer fill, Bill?_  
 _Doin’ ’im in the street Bill!’_

_Laughed, lord!_  
 _Thought they should ‘ave died at_  
 _Me and Ted knockin’_  
 _In the Old Kent Road!_

The four men raised their hands in reply to the laughter and applause, bowing in unison before settling back onto their stools at the bar. Finch set a glass down in front of each.

“Compliments of the establishment, gentlemen.”

Alistair picked up his snifter, swirling the contents and grinning as the aroma of the fine cognac hit his nose. “Harry, you have sorely been missed and I for one am glad that you’ve returned to the nest so to speak.”

The other three raised their drinks, saluting him.

George sipped his chardonnay appreciatively. “Any chance you might grace us with your expertise tonight?” The septuagenarian tilted his head in the direction of the baby grand in the near corner.

Finch studied the gleaming, dark brown case of the instrument. He’d played only a handful of times in the past three years....mostly when he was alone at one of his many safe houses. In the deep hours of the evening when he’d been unable to sleep, Harold would sometimes indulge himself. 

“Perhaps, when things quieten down a bit more.” Harold’s apologetic smile mollified his companions and the talk shifted to relationships, of friends lost and rediscovered and the lack of appreciation in the younger generations for how hard earned their so-called ‘freedoms’ had been to achieve.

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

John Reese slipped in the backdoor of O.W.’s, the sounds of music and conversations washing over him as he made his way to the third floor. Placing two dufflebags on the bed, he hung his coat up on the door hook.

The op spied the note taped to the refrigerator door.

_John;_  
 _I’m helping Rupert out tonight._  
 _Please come down if you wish._  
 _Harold_

Reese smiled, picturing Finch ill-at-ease among a rowdy group of bar patrons. Taking just long enough to wash his face and change into a casual shirt, John went back downstairs and stood out of sight behind the heavy velvet curtains separating the bar’s public space and its storage area.

The room was nearly empty now; only a dozen or so patrons remained. A solo piano accompanied by a melancholy tenor voice carried back to where John was standing.

_I spoke to you in cautious tones;_  
 _You answered me with no pretense._  
 _And still I feel I said too much;_  
 _My silence is my self-defense._

The voice was Hurley’s. John shifted until he could see the younger man, leaning on the bar as he sang softly.

_But if my silence made you leave;_  
 _Then that would be my worst mistake._  
 _So I will share this room with you;_  
 _And you can have this heart to break._

Moving quietly, Reese slipped up to the rear of the group gathered around the piano. John was tall enough to see over the heads of those in front of him, recognizing the slender figure seated at the grand. 

Finch’s eyes were closed as he played from memory, an almost resigned expression on his face. The op tapped the shoulder of the person directly in his path. Scowling, the young man turned and seeing John’s attention focused on the pianist, simply stepped aside...elbowing his companions to make way. 

The watchers made no sound as the newcomer wound his way closer to the piano, oblivious to everyone but its player. Hurley noticed John’s approach and smiled, but his voice didn’t break. Finch still had his eyes closed, his darker tenor joining Hugh’s on the final verse.

_So I would choose to be with you;_  
 _That’s if the choice were mine to make._  
 _But you can make decisions too;_  
 _And you can have this heart to break._

_And so it goes, and so it goes;_  
 _And you’re the only one who knows._

The silence that greeted the end of the song startled Finch into opening his eyes, which widened behind his glasses as he realized who was standing next to him.

“John.....”

“I choose to be with you too, Harold.” Reese leaned down and bracing one hand on the piano, cupped the back of Finch’s head with the other as he kissed the recluse.

Spontaneous applause broke out, punctuated by hoots, cat-calls and Samuel’s startled “Harry you old _dog_!”

Finch’s face burned, hands reaching up to clutch at Reese’s shirt. His embarrassment quickly fading as he felt John’s tongue brush his lips. Uttering a quiet groan, Harold opened his mouth; countering the op’s oral explorations with his own equally enthusiastic ones.

The clang of the brass bar bell startled them into breaking their kiss. All heads had turned to stare at Hurley.

“Gentlemen, next round is on the house...place your orders please.”

Another cheer arose and the remaining patrons lined up at the bar, the impromptu floor show of Finch and Reese now forgotten.

“Hugh’s got excellent, lousy timing.” Reese grumbled, his smirk giving away his humor at the situation.

“I’m assuming that nothing happened?” With the mood broken, Finch was back to all business.

“No sign of Mark, Evans or any of them.” Reese nudged Finch’s shoulder and Harold slid down the piano bench to make room for him. John nuzzled Harold’s ear, wrapping an arm around the recluse’s waist to pull him close.

“I take it your day was more fun than mine.”

“If you call worrying about you for most of it entertaining, then yes...I suppose it was. I only came down to help Rupert after my last check in with you.” Finch felt affronted that Reese would think he’d been unconcerned about the op.

“Relax Harold, I’m just playing.” John breathed into his ear again. “I _missed_ you today....that’s all I meant.”

Finch looked down at the keyboard, reaching out to close the lid on the rows of ivory and ebony wood. “I missed you too John, very much.” He glanced up at the bar. “I should help Rupert fill those orders.”

“Would you mind getting me something?”

“Of course.” Finch stood up, chagrined that he’d not even offered John anything. “What would you like?”

“You pick...I trust your taste, Harold.”

The smile that engendered from his partner made all Reese’s hours of sitting on a concrete rooftop suddenly worthwhile.

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

NOTES: Song 1 'Wotcher' or 'Knocked Em in the Old Kent Road'-version sung by Arthur Treacher. Song 2 'And So It Goes'-Billy Joel


End file.
